II           —                 °- 

—=—="—"=—' 

1 

UNIVERSITY 
1                   LOS 

OF  CALIFO'RN 
ANGELES 

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1 

1 

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ECSTASY: 

A  STUDY  OF  HAPPINESS 


THE  BOOKS  OF  THE 
SMALL  SOULS 

By 

LOUIS  COUPERUS 

Translated  by 
ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  de  MATTOS 

I.  SMALL  SOULS. 

IL  THE  LATER  LIFE. 

IIL  THE  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  SOULS. 

IV.  DR.  ADRIAAN. 


ECSTASY: 

A  STUDY  OF  HAPPINESS 
A  NOVEL 


BY 

LOUIS  COUPERUS 

Author  of  "Small  Souls,"  "Old  People 
and  the  Things  that  Pass,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYBIGHT,    1919 

bt  dodd,  mead  and  company,  Inc. 


V*IL-e*LLOU    COMPANY 

BINSMAiaTON  »«<D  NEW  yC^« 


PT 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

This  delicate  story  is  Louis  Couperus' 
third  novel.  It  appeared  in  the  original 
Dutch  some  twenty-seven  years  ago  and 
has  not  hitherto  been  published  in  Amer- 
ica. At  the  time  when  it  was  written,  the 
author  was  a  leading  member  of  what  was 
then  known  as  the  "sensitivist"  school  of 
Dutch  novelists;  and  the  reader  will  not 
be  slow  in  discovering  that  the  story  pos- 
sesses an  elusive  charm  of  its  own,  a 
charm  marking  a  different  tendency  from 
that  of  the  later  books. 

Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos 
Chelsea,  2  June,  1919 


468516 

GERMAN 


ECSTASY: 

A  STUDY  OF  HAPPINESS 


ECSTASY: 

A  STUDY  OF  HAPPINESS 
CHAPTER  I 


DOLE  VAN  ATTEMA,  in  the 
course  of  an  after-dinner  stroll, 
had  called  on  his  wife's  sister, 
Cecilc  van  Even,  on  the  Scheveningen 
Road.  He  was  waiting  in  her  little 
boudoir,  pacing  up  and  down,  among  the 
rosewood  chairs  and  the  vieux  rose  moire 
ottomans,  over  and  over  again,  with  three 
or  four  long  steps,  measuring  the  width  of 
the  tiny  room.  On  an  onyx  pedestal,  at 
the  head  of  a  sofa,  burned  an  onyx  lamp, 
glowing  sweetly  within  its  lace  shade,  a 
great  six-petalled  flower  of  light. 

Mevrouw  was  still  with  the  children. 


2  ECSTASY 

putting  them  to  bed,  the  maid  had  told 
him;  so  he  would  not  be  able  to  see  his 
godson,  little  Dolf,  that  evening.  He 
was  sorry.  He  would  have  liked  to  go  up- 
stairs and  romp  with  Dolf  where  he  lay  in 
his  little  bed;  but  he  remembered  Cecile's 
request  and  his  promise  on  an  earlier  oc- 
casion, when  a  romp  of  this  sort  with 
his  uncle  had  kept  the  boy  awake  for 
hours.  So  Dolf  van  Attema  waited,  smil- 
ing at  his  own  obedience,  measuring  the 
little  boudoir  with  his  steps,  the  steps  of  a 
firmly-built  man,  short,  broad  and  thick- 
set, no  longer  in  his  first  youth,  showing 
symptoms  of  baldness  under  his  short 
brown  hair,  with  small  blue-grey  eyes, 
kindly  and  pleasant  of  glance,  and  a 
mouth  which  was  firm  and  determined,  in 
spite  of  the  smile,  in  the  midst  of  the 
ruddy  growth  of  his  crisp  Teutonic  beard. 
A  log  smouldered  on  the  little  hearth  of 
nickel  and  gilt;  and  two  little  flames  flick- 


ECSTASY  3 

ered  discreetly :  a  fire  of  peaceful  intimacy 
in  that  twilight  atmosphere  of  lace- 
shielded  lamplight.  Intimacy  and  dis- 
creetness shed  over  the  whole  little  room 
an  aroma  as  of  violets;  a  suggestion  of  the 
scent  of  violets  nestled,  too,  in  the  soft 
tints  of  the  draperies  and  furniture — rose- 
wood and  rose  moire — and  hung  about  the 
corners  of  the  little  rosewood  writing- 
table,  wdth  its  silver  appointments  and  its 
photographs  under  smooth  glass  frames. 
Above  the  writing-table  hung  a  small 
white  Venetian  mirror.  The  gentle  air  of 
modest  refinement,  the  subdued  and  al- 
most prudish  tenderness  which  floated 
about  the  little  hearth,  the  writing-table 
and  the  sofa,  gliding  between  the  quiet 
folds  of  the  faded  hangings,  had  some- 
thing soothing,  something  to  quiet  the 
nerves,  so  that  Dolf  presently  ceased  his 
work  of  measurement,  sat  down,  looked 
around  him  and  finally  remained  staring 


4  ECSTASY 

at  the  portrait  of  Cecile's  husband,  the 
minister  of  State,  dead  eighteen  months 
back. 

After  that  he  had  not  long  to  wait  before 
Cecile  came  in.  She  advanced  towards 
him  smiling,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat, 
pressed  his  hand,  excused  herself  that  the 
children  had  detained  her.  She  always 
put  them  to  sleep  herself,  her  two  boys, 
Dolf  and  Christie,  and  then  they  said 
their  prayers,  one  beside  the  other  in  their 
little  beds.  The  scene  came  back  to  Dolf 
as  she  spoke  of  the  children ;  he  had  often 
seen  it. 

Christie  was  not  well,  she  said;  he  was 
so  listless;  she  hoped  it  might  not  turn  out 
to  be  measles. 


There  was  motherliness  in  her  voice,  but 
she  did  not  seem  a  mother  as  she  reclined, 
girlishly  slight,  on  the  sofa,  with  behind 


ECSTASY  5 

her  the  soft  glow  of  the  lace  flower  of 
light  on  its  stem  of  onyx.  She  was  still  in 
the  black  of  her  mourning.  Here  and 
there  the  light  at  her  back  touched  her 
flaxen  hair  with  a  frail  golden  halo;  the 
loose  crape  tea-gown  accentuated  the 
maidenly  slimness  of  her  figure,  with  the 
gently  curving  lines  of  her  long  neck  and 
somewhat  narrow  shoulders;  her  arms 
hung  with  a  certain  weariness  as  her  hands 
lay  in  her  lap;  gently  curving,  too,  were 
the  lines  of  her  girlish  youth  of  bust  and 
slender  waist,  slender  as  a  vase  is  slender, 
so  that  she  seemed  a  still  expectant  flower 
of  maidenhood,  scarcely  more  than  adoles- 
cent, not  nearly  old  enough  to  be  the 
mother  of  her  children,  her  two  boys  of 
six  and  seven. 

Her  features  were  lost  in  the  shadow — 
the  lamplight  touching  her  hair  with  gold 
— and  Dolf  could  not  at  first  see  into  her 
eyes;  but  presently,  as  he  grew  accustomed 


6  ECSTASY 

to'  the  shade,  these  shone  softly  out  from 
the  dusk  of  her  features.  She  spoke  in 
her  low-toned  voice,  a  little  faint  and 
soft,  like  a  subdued  whisper;  she  spoke 
again  of  Christie,  of  his  god-child  Dolf 
and  then  asked  for  news  of  Amelie,  her 
sister. 

"We  are  all  well,  thank  you,"  he  re- 
plied. "You  may  well  ask  how  we  are: 
we  hardly  ever  see  you." 

"I  go  out  so  little,"  she  said,  as  an  ex- 
cuse. 

"That  is  just  where  you  make  a  mistake : 
you  do  not  get  half  enough  air,  not  half 
enough  society.  Amelie  was  saying  so 
only  at  dinner  to-day;  and  that's  why  I've 
looked  in  to  ask  you  to  come  round  to  us 
to-morrow  evening." 

"Is  it  a  party?" 

"No;  nobody." 

"Very  well,  I  will  come.  I  shall  be 
very  pleased." 


ECSTASY  7 

"Yes,  but  why  do  you  never  come  of 
your  own  accord'?" 

"I  can't  summon  up  the  energy." 

"Then  how  do  you  spend  your  even- 
ings ?" 

"I  read,  I  write,  or  I  do  nothing  at  all. 
The  last  is  really  the  most  delightful:  I 
only  feel  myself  alive  when  I  am  doing 
nothing!' 

He  shook  his  head : 

"You're  a  funny  girl.  You  really 
don't  deserve  that  we  should  like  you  as 
much  as  we  do." 

"How?"  she  asked,  archly. 

'  'Of  course,  it  makes  no  difference  to  you. 
You  can  get  on  just  as  well  without  us." 

"You  mustn't  say  that;  it's  not  true. 
Your  affection  means  a  great  deal  to  me, 
but  it  takes  so  much  to  induce  me  to  go 
out.  When  I  am  once  in  my  chair,  I  sit 
thinking,  or  not  thinking;  and  then  I  find 
it  difficult  to  stir." 


8  ECSTASY 

"What  a  horribly  lazy  mode  of  life  I" 

"Well,  there  it  is  I  .  .  .  You  like  me  so 
much:  can't  you  forgive  me  my  laziness *? 
Especially  when  I  have  promised  you  to 
come  round  to-morrow." 

He  was  captivated : 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  laughing.  "Of 
course  you  are  free  to  live  as  you  choose. 
We  like  you  just  the  same,  in  spite  of 
your  neglect  of  us." 

She  laughed,  reproached  him  with  using 
ugly  words  and  rose  slowly  to  pour  him 
out  a  cup  of  tea.  He  felt  a  caressing  soft- 
ness creep  over  him,  as  if  he  would  have 
liked  to  stay  there  a  long  time,  talking 
and  sipping  tea  in  that  violet-scented  at- 
mosphere of  subdued  refinement:  he,  the 
man  of  action,  the  politician,  member  of 
the  Second  Chamber,  every  hour  of  whose 
day  was  filled  up  with  committees  here  and 
committees  there. 

"You  were  saying  that  you  read  and 


ECSTASY  9 

wrote  a  good  deal:  what  do  you  write *?" 
he  asked. 

"Letters." 

"Nothing  but  letters?" 

"I  love  writing  letters.  I  write  to  my 
brother  and  sister  in  India." 

"But  that  is  not  the  only  thing'?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"What  else  do  you  write  then*?" 

"You're  growing  a  bit  indiscreet,  you 
know." 

"Nonsense!"  he  laughed  back,  as  if  he 
were  quite  within  his  right.  "What  is  it'? 
Literature*?" 

"Of  course  not!     My  diary." 

He  laughed  loudly  and  gaily: 

"You  keep  a  diary !  What  do  you  want 
with  a  diary'?  Your  days  are  all  exactly 
alike!" 

"Indeed  they  are  not." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  quite  non- 
plussed.    She  had  always  been  a  riddle  to 


10  ECSTASY 

him.     She  knew  this  and  loved  to  mystify 
him: 

"Sometimes  my  days  are  very  nice  and 
sometimes  very  horrid." 

"Really'?"  he  said,  smiling,  looking  at 
her  out  of  his  kind  little  eyes. 

But  still  he  did  not  understand. 

"And  so  sometimes  I  have  a  great  deal  to 
write  in  my  diary,"  she  continued. 

"Let  me  see  some  of  it." 

"By  all  means  .  .  .  after  I'm  dead." 

A  mock  shiver  ran  through  his  broad 
shoulders : 

"Brr!     How  gloomy!" 

"Dead  I  What  is  there  gloomy  about 
that'?"  she  asked,  almost  merrily. 

But  he  rose  to  go : 

"You  frighten  me,"  he  said,  jestingly. 
"I  must  be  going  home;  I  have  a  lot  to 
do  still.     So  we  see  you  to-morrow'?" 

"Thanks,  yes:  to-morrow." 

He  took  her  hand ;  and  she  struck  a  little 


ECSTASY  11 

silver  gong,  for  him  to  be  let  out.  He 
stood  looking  at  her  a  moment  longer,  with 
a  smile  in  his  beard  : 

"Yes,  you're  a  funny  girl,  and  yet  .  .  . 
and  yet  we  all  like  you !"  he  repeated,  as  if 
he  wished  to  excuse  himself  in  his  own 
eyes  for  this  affect,ion. 

And  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead:  he  was  so  much  older  than  she. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  all  like  me," 
she  said.  "Till  to-morrow,  then.  Good- 
bye." 

3 

He  went;  and  she  was  alone.  The 
words  of  their  conversation  seemed  still  to 
be  floating  in  the  silence,  like  vanishing 
atoms.  Then  the  silence  became  com- 
plete; and  Cecile  sat  motionless,  leaning 
back  in  the  three  little  cushions  of  the  sofa, 
black  in  her  crape  against  the  light  of  the 
lamp,  her  eyes  gazing  out  before  her.     All 


12  ECSTASY 

around  her  a  vague  dream  descended  as  of 
little  clouds,  in  which  faces  shone  for  an 
instant,  from  which  low  voices  issued  with- 
out logical  sequence  of  words,  an  aim- 
less confusion  of  recollection.  It  was  the 
dreaming  of  one  on  whose  brain  lay  no 
obsession  either  of  happiness  or  of  grief, 
the  dreaming  of  a  mind  filled  with  peace- 
ful light:  a  wide,  still,  grey  Nirvana,  in 
which  all  the  trouble  of  thinking  flows 
away  and  the  thoughts  merely  wander 
back  over  former  impressions,  taking  them 
here  and  there,  without  selecting.  For 
Cecile's  future  appeared  to  her  as  a 
monotonous  sweetness  of  unruffled  peace, 
in  which  Dolf  and  Christie  grew  up  into 
jolly  boys,  young  undergraduates,  men, 
while  she  herself  remained  nothing  but 
the  mother,  for  in  the  unconsciousness  of 
her  spiritual  life  she  did  not  know  herself 
entirely.  She  did  not  know  that  she  was 
more  wife  than  mother,  however  fond  she 


ECSTASY  13 

might  be  of  her  children.  Swathed  in  the 
clouds  of  her  dreaming,  she  did  not  feel 
that  there  was  something  missing,  by  rea- 
son of  her  widowhood;  she  did  not  feel 
loneliness,  nor  a  need  of  some  one  beside 
her,  nor  regret  that  yielding  air  alone 
flowed  about  her,  in  which  her  arms  might 
shape  themselves  and  grope  in  vain  for 
something  to  embrace.  The  capacity  for 
these  needs  was  there,  but  so  deep  hidden 
in  her  soul's  unconsciousness  that  she  did 
not  know  of  its  existence  nor  suspect  that 
one  day  it  might  assert  itself  and  rise  up 
slowly,  up  and  up,  an  apparition  of  more 
evident  melancholy.  For  such  melancholy 
as  was  in  her  dreaming  seemed  to  her  to 
belong  to  the  past,  to  the  memory  of  the 
dear  husband  whom  she  had  lost,  and 
never,  never,  to  the  present,  to  an  un- 
realized sense  of  her  loneliness. 

Whoever  had  told  her  now  that  some- 
thing was  wanting  in  her  life  would  have 


14  ECSTASY 

roused  her  indignation;  she  herself  ima- 
gined that  she  had  everything  that  she 
wanted;  and  she  valued  highly  the  calm 
happiness  of  the  innoce'nt  egoism  in  which 
she  and  her  children  breathed,  a  happi- 
ness which  she  thought  complete.  When 
she  dreamed,  as  now,  about  nothing  in  par- 
ticular— little  dream-clouds  fleeing  across 
the  field  of  her  imagination,  with  other 
cloudlets  in  their  wake — sometimes  great 
tears  would  well  into  her  eyes  and  trickle 
slowly  down  her  cheek;  but  to  her  these 
were  only  tears  of  an  unspeakably  vague 
melancholy,  a  light  load  upon  her  heart, 
barely  oppressive  and  there  for  some  rea- 
son which  she  did  not  know,  for  she  had 
ceased  to  mourn  the  loss  of  her  husband. 
In  this  manner  she  could  pass  whole 
evenings,  simply  sitting  dreaming,  never 
wearying  of  herself,  nor  reflecting  how  the 
people  outside  hurried  and  tired  them- 
selves,  aimlessly,   without  being  happy, 


ECSTASY  15 

whereas   she   was   happy,    happy   in    the 
cloudland  of  her  dreams. 

The  hours  sped  and  her  hand  was  too 
slack  to  reach  for  the  book  upon  the  table 
beside  her;  slackness  at  last  permeated 
her  so  thoroughly  that  one  o'clock  arrived 
and  she  could  not  yet  decide  to  get  up  and 
go  to  her  bed. 


CHAPTER  II 


NEXT  evening,  when  Cecile  en- 
tered the  Van  Attemas'  draw- 
ing-room, slowly  with  languor- 
ous steps,  in  the  sinuous  black  of  her  crape, 
Dolf  at  once  came  to  her  and  took  her 
hand: 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  annoyed. 
Ouaerts  called;  and  Dina  had  told  the 
servants  that  we  were  at  home.  I'm 
sorry  .  .  ." 

"It  doesn't  matter  I"  she  whispered. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  a  little  irritated, 
in  her  sensitiveness,  at  unexpectedly  meet- 
ing this  stranger,  whom  she  did  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  seen  at  Dolf's  and 
who  now  rose  from  where  he  had  been 
sitting  with  Dolf's  great-aunt,  old  Mrs. 
Hoze,    Amelie   and   the    two   daughters, 

i6 


ECSTASY  17 

Anna  and  Suzette.  Cecile  kissed  the  old 
lady  and  greeted  the  rest  of  the  circle  in 
turn,  welcomed  with  a  smile  by  all  of 
them.     Dolf  introduced: 

"My  friend  Taco  Quaerts.  .  .  .  Mrs. 
van  Even,  my  sister-in-law." 

They  sat  a  little  scattered  round  the 
great  fire  on  the  open  hearth,  the  piano 
close  to  them  in  the  corner,  its  draped  back 
turned  to  them,  and  Jules,  the  youngest 
boy,  sitting  behind  it,  playing  a  romance 
by  Rubinstein  and  so  absorbed  that  he  had 
not  heard  his  aunt  come  in. 

"Jules!  .  .  ."  Dolf  called  out. 

"Leave  him  alone,"  said  Cecile. 

The  boy  did  not  repl}^  and  went  on 
playing.  Cecile,  across  the  piano,  saw  his 
tangled  hair  and  his  eyes  abstracted  in 
the  music.  A  feebleness  of  melancholy 
slowly  rose  within  her,  like  a'burden,  like 
a  burden  that  climbed  up  her  breast  and 
stifled  her  breathing.     From  time  to  time, 


i8  ECSTASY 

forte  notes  falling  suddenly  from  Jules' 
fingers  gave  her  little  shocks  in  her  throat; 
and    a    strange    feeling    of    uncertainty 
seemed  winding  her  about  as  with  vague 
meshes:  a  feeling  not  new  to  her,  one  in 
which  she  seemed  no  longer  to  possess 
herself,  to  be  lost  and  wandering  in  search 
of  herself,  in  which  she  did  not  know  what 
she  was  thinking,  nor  what  at  this  very 
moment     she      might      say.     Something 
melted  in   her  brain,   like  a  momentary 
weakness.     Her  head  sank  a  little;  and, 
without  hearing  distinctly,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  once  before  she  had  heard  this 
romance  played  so,  exactly  so,  as  Jules  was 
now  playing  it,  very,  very  long  ago,  in 
some  former  existence  ages  agone,  in  just 
the  same  circumstances,  in  this  very  circle 
of  people,  before  this  very  fire.  .  .  .  The 
tongues  of  flame  shot  up  with  the  same 
flickerings  as  from  the  logs  of  ages  back; 
and  Suzette  blinked  with  the  same  ex- 


ECSTASY  19 

pression  which  she  had  worn  then  on  that 
former  occasion.  .  .  . 

Why  was  it  that  Cecile  should  be  sitting 
here  again  now,  in  the  midst  of  them  all'? 
Why  was  it  necessary,  to  sit  like  this  round 
a  fire,  listening  to  music'?  How  strange 
it  was  and  what  strange  things  there  were 
in  this  world  I  .  .  .  Still,  it  was  pleasant 
to  be  in  this  cosy  company,  so  agreeably 
quiet,  without  many  words,  the  music  be- 
hind the  piano  dying  away  plaintively, 
until  it  suddenly  stopped. 

Mrs.  Hoze's  voice  had  a  ring  of  sympa- 
thy as  she  murmured  in  Cecile's  ear: 

"So  we  are  getting  you  back,  dear? 
You  are  coming  out  of  your  shell  again?" 

Cecile  pressed  her  hand,  with  a  little 
laugh  : 

"But  I  never  hid  myself  from  you  I  I 
have  always  been  in  to  you!" 

"Yes,  but  we  had  to  come  to  you.  You 
always  stayed  at  home,  didn't  you?" 


20  ECSTASY 

"You're  not  angry  with  me,  are  you?" 

"No,  darling,  of  course  not;  you  have 
had  such  a  great  sorrow." 

"Oh,  I  have  still:  I  seem  to  have  lost 
everything!" 

How  was  it  that  she  suddenly  realized 
this*?  She  never  had  that  sense  of  loss 
in  her  own  home,  among  the  clouds  of  her 
day-dreams,  but  outside,  among  other  peo- 
ple, she  immediately  felt  that  she  had 
lost  everything,  everything.  .  .  . 

"But  you  have  your  children." 

"Yes." 

She  answered  faintly,  wearily,  with  a 
sense  of  loneliness,  of  terrible  loneliness, 
like  one  floating  aimlessly  in  space,  borne 
upon  thinnest  air,  in  which  her  yearning 
arms  groped  in  vain. 

Mrs.  Hoze  stood  up.  Dolf  came  to 
take  her  into  the  other  room,  for  whist. 

"You  too,  Cecile'?"  he  asked. 

"No,  you  know  I  never  touch  a  card!" 


ECSTASY  21 

He  did  not  press  her;  there  were 
Ouaerts  and  the  girls  to  make  up. 

"What  are  you  doing  there,  Jules'?"  he 
asked,  glancing  across  the  piano. 

The  boy  had  remained  sitting  there, 
forgotten.  He  now  rose  and  appeared, 
tall,  grown  out  of  his  strength,  with 
strange  eyes. 

"What  were  you  doing? 

"I  ...  I  was  looking  for  something 
...  a  piece  of  music." 

"Don't  sit  moping  like  that,  my  boy  I" 
growled  Dolf,  kindly,  with  his  deep  voice. 
"What's  become  of  those  cards  again, 
Amelie?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  his  wife,  looking 
about  vaguely.  "Where  are  the  cards, 
Anna?" 

"Aren't  they  in  the  box  with  the  count- 
ers?" 

"No,"  Dolf  grumbled.  "Nothing  is 
evei  where  it  ought  to  be." 


22  ECSTASY 

Anna  got  up,  looked,  found  the  cards 
in  the  drawer  of  a  buhl  cabinet.  Amelie 
also  had  risen,  stood  arranging  the  music 
on  the  piano.  She  was  for  ever  ordering 
things  in  her  rooms  and  immediately  for- 
getting where  she  had  put  them,  tidying 
with  her  fingers  and  perfectly  absent  in 
her  mind. 

"Anna,  come  and  draw  a  card  too. 
You  can  play  in  the  next  rubber,"  cried 
Dolf,  from  the  other  room. 

The  two  sisters  remained  alone,  with 
Jules. 

The  boy  had  sat  down  on  a  stool  at  Ce- 
cile's  feet: 

"Mamma,  do  leave  my  music  alone." 

Amelie  sat  down  beside  Cecile : 
.  "Is  Christie  better^' 

"He  is  a  little  livelier  to-day." 

"I'm  glad.  Have  you  never  met 
Quaerts  before^" 

"No." 


ECSTASY  23 

"Really'?  He  comes  here  so  often." 
Cecile  looked  through  the  open  folding- 
doors  at  the  card-table.  Two  candles 
stood  upon  it.  Mrs.  Hoze's  pink  face  was 
lit  up  clearly,  with  its  smooth  and  stately 
features;  her  hair  gleamed  silver-grey. 
Quaerts  sat  opposite  her:  Cecile  noticed 
the  round,  vanishing  silhouette  of  his 
head,  the  hair  cut  very  close,  thick  and 
black  above  the  glittering  white  streak  of 
his  collar.  His  arms  made  little  move- 
ments as  he  threw  down  a  card  or  gathered 
up  a  trick.  His  person  had  something 
about  it  of  great  power,  something  ener- 
getic and  robust,  something  of  every-day 
life,  which  Cecile  disliked. 

"Are  the  girls  fond  of  cards'?" 
"Suzette  is,  Anna  not  so  very:  she's  not 
so  brisk." 

Cecile  saw  that  Anna  sat  behind  her 
father,  looking  on  with  eyes  which  did  not 
understand. 


24  ECSTASY 

"Do  you  take  them  out  much  now- 
adays'?" Cecile  asked  next. 

"Yes,  I  have  to.  Suzette  likes  going 
out,  but  not  Anna.  Suzette  will  be  a 
pretty  girl,  don't  you  think?" 

"Suzette's  an  awful  flirt!"  said  Jules. 
"At  our  last  dinner-party  .  .  ." 

He  stopped  suddenly: 

"No,  I  won't  tell  you.  It's  not  right 
to  tell  tales,  is  it,  Auntie'?" 

Cecile  smiled: 

"No,  of  course  it's  not." 

"I  want  always  to  do  what's  right." 

"That  is  very  good." 

"No,  no  I"  he  said  deprecatingly. 
"Everything  seems  to  me  so  bad,  do  you 
know.  Why  is  everything  so  bad, 
Auntie  r' 

"But  there  is  much  that  is  good  too, 
Jules." 

He  shook  his  head: 

"No,  no  I"  he  repeated.     "Everything 


ECSTASY  25 

is  bad.  Everything  is  very  bad.  Every- 
thing is  selfishness.  Just  mention  some- 
thing that's  not  selfish!" 

"Parents'  love  for  their  children." 
But  Jules  shook  his  head  again : 
"Parents'   love  is  ordinary  selfishness. 
Children  are  a  part  of  their  parents,  who 
only  love  themselves  when  they  love  their 
children." 

"Jules  I"  cried  Amelie.  "Your  re- 
marks are  always  much  too  decided.  You 
know  I  don't  like  it:  you  are  much  too 
young  to  talk  like  that.  One  would  think 
you  knew  everything!" 
The  boy  was  silent. 

"And  I  always  say  that  we  never 
know  anything.  We  never  know  an}^- 
thing,  don't  you  agree,  Cecile^  I,  at 
least,     never     know     anything,     never. 

She  looked  round  the  room  absently. 
Her  fingers  smoothed  the  fringe  of  her 


26  ECSTASY 

chair,  tidying.     Cecile  put  her  arm  softly 
round  Jules'  neck. 


It  was  Quaerts'  turn  to  sit  out  from 
the  card-table;  and,  though  Dolf  pressed 
him  to  go  on  playing,  he  rose : 

"I  want  to  go  and  talk  to  Mrs.  van 
Even,"  Cecile  heard  him  say. 

She  saw  him  come  towards  the  big  draw- 
ing-room, where  she  was  still  sitting  with 
Amelie — Jules  still  at  her  feet — engaged 
in  desultory  talk,  for  Amelie  could  never 
maintain  a  conversation,  always  wander- 
ing and  losing  the  threads.  She  did  not 
know  why,  but  Cecile  suddenly  assumed  a 
most  serious  expression,  as  though  she  were 
discussing  very  important  matters  with  her 
sister;  and  yet  all  that  she  said  was: 

"Jules  ought  really  to  take  lessons  in 
harmony,    when   he   composes   so   nicely. 


ECSTASY  27 

Quaerts  had  approached;  he  sat  down 
beside  them,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
shyness  in  his  manner,  a  gentle  hesitation 
in  the  brusque  force  of  his  movements. 

But  Jules  fired  up : 

"No,  Auntie,  I  want  to  be  taught  as  lit- 
tle as  possible  I  I  don't  want  to  be  learn- 
ing names  and  principles  and  classifica- 
tions. I  couldn't  do  it.  I  only  compose 
like  this,  like  this.  .  .  ."  And  he  suited 
his  phrase  with  a  vague  movement  of  his 
fingers. 

"Jules  can  hardly  read,  it's  a  shame!" 
said  Amelie. 

"And  he  plays  so  nicely,"  said  Cecile. 

"Yes,  Auntie,  I  remember  things,  I  pick 
them  out  on  the  piano.  Oh,  it's  not  really 
clever:  it  just  comes  out  of  myself,  you 
know  I" 

"But  that's  so  splendid!" 

"No,  no !  You  have  to  know  the  names 
and  principles  and  classifications.     You 


28  ECSTASY 

want  that  in  everything.  I  shall  never 
learn  technique;  I'm  no  good." 

He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment;  a  look 
of  sadness  flitted  across  his  restless  face. 

"You  know  a  piano  is  so  ...  so  big, 
a  great  piece  of  furniture,  isn't  it?  But  a 
violin,  oh,  how  delightful!  You  hold 
it  to  you  like  this,  against  your  neck,  al- 
most against  your  heart;  it  is  almost  part 
of  you;  and  you  stroke  it,  like  this,  you 
could  almost  kiss  it!  You  feel  the  soul 
of  the  violin  quivering  inside  its  body. 
And  then  you  only  have  just  a  string  or 
two,  two  or  three  strings  which  sing  every- 
thing.    Oh,  a  violin,  a  violin!" 

"Jules  .   .  ."  Amelie  began. 

"And,  oh.  Auntie,  a  harp!  A  harp,  like 
this,  between  your  legs,  a  harp  which  you 
embrace  with  both  your  arms:  a  harp  is 
exactly  like  an  angel,  with  long  golden 
hair.  .  .  .  Ah,  I've  never  yet  played  on 
a  harp!" 


ECSTASY  29 

''Jules,  leave  off  I"  cried  Amelie, 
sharply.  "You  drive  me  silly  with  that 
nonsense  I  I  wonder  you're  not  ashamed, 
before  Mr.  Quaerts." 

Jules  looked  up  in  surprise: 

"Before  Taco'?  Do  you  think  I've  any- 
thing to  be  ashamed  of,  Taco^" 

"Of  course  not,  my  boy." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  was  like  a  caress. 
Cecile  looked  at  him,  astonished;  she 
would  have  expected  him  to  make  fun 
of  Jules.  She  did  not  understand  him, 
but  she  disliked  him  exceedingly,  so 
healthy  and  strong,  with  his  energetic  face 
and  his  fine,  expressive  mouth,  so  different 
from  Amelie  and  Jules  and  herself. 

"Of  course  not,  my  boy." 

Jules  glanced  at  his  mother  with  a  slight 
look  of  disdain,  as  if  to  say  that  he  knew 
better : 

"You  see !     Taco's  a  good  fellow." 

He  turned  his  footstool  round  towards 


30  ECSTASY 

Quaerts  and  laid  his  head  against  his  knee. 

"Jules!" 

"Pray  let  him  be,  mevrouw." 

"Every  one  spoils  that  boy  .  .  ." 

"Except  yourself,"  said  Jules. 

"II  II"  cried  Amelie,  indignantly.  "I 
spoil  you  out  and  out  I  I  wish  I  knew  how 
not  to  give  way  to  you  I  I  wish  I  could 
send  you  to  Kampen  or  Deli  I  ^  That 
would  make  a  man  of  you  I  But  I  can't 
do  it  by  myself;  and  your  father  spoils 
you  too.  .  .  .  Ican't  think  what's  going  to 
become  of  you  I" 

"What  is  going  to  become  of  you, 
Jules'?"  asked  Quaerts. 

"I  don't  know.  I  mustn't  go  to  college, 
I  am  too  weak  a  doll  to  do  much  work." 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  Deli  some 
day^' 

"Yes,  with  you.  .  .  .  Not  alone;  oh,  to 

1  Two  military  staff-colleges  in  Holland  and  Java  re- 
spectively. 


ECSTASY  31 

be  alone,  always  alone!  You  will  see: 
I  shall  always  be  alone ;  and  it  is  so  terrible 
to  be  alone  I" 

"But,  Jules,  you  are  not  alone  now  I" 
said  Cecile,  reproachfully. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  in  myself  I  am  alone,  al- 
ways alone  .  .  ." 

He  pressed  himself  against  Quaerts' 
knee. 

"Jules,  don't  talk  so  stupidly,"  cried 
Amelie,  nervously. 

"Yes,  yes  I"  cried  Jules,  with  a  sudden 
half  sob.  "I  will  hold  my  tongue!  But 
don't  talk  about  me  any  more;  oh,  I  beg 
you,  don't  talk  about  me!" 

He  locked  his  hands  and  implored  them, 
with  dread  in  his  face.  They  all  stared 
at  him,  but  he  buried  his  face  in  Quaerts' 
knees,  as  though  deadly  frightened  of 
something.  .  .  . 


32  ECSTASY 

3 

Anna  had  played  execrably,  to  Suzette's 
despair :  she  could  not  even  remember  the 
winning  trumps! 

Dolf  called  out  t®  his  wife : 

"Amelie,  do  come  in  for  a  rubber;  that 
is,  if  Quaerts  doesn't  want  to.  You  can't 
give  your  daughter  many  points,  but  still 
you're  not  quite  so  bad!" 

"I  would  rather  stay  and  talk  to  Mrs. 
van  Even,"  said  Quaerts. 

"Go  and  play  without  minding  me,  if 
you  prefer,  Mr.  Quaerts,"  said  Cecile,  in 
the  cold  voice  which  she  adopted  towards 
people  whom  she  disliked. 

Amelie  dragged  herself  away  with  an 
unhappy  face.  She  did  not  play  a  bril- 
liant game  either;  and  Suzette  always  lost 
her  temper  when  she  made  mistakes. 

"I  have  so  long  been  hoping  to  make 
your  acquaintance,  mevrouw,  that  I  should 


ECSTASY  33 

not  like  to  miss  this  opportunity,"  Quaerts 
replied. 

She  looked  at  him :  it  troubled  her  that 
she  could  not  understand  him.  She  knew 
him  to  be  something  of  a  Lothario.  There 
were  stories  in  which  the  name  of  a  married 
woman  was  coupled  with  his.  Did  he 
wish  to  try  his  blandishments  on  her*? 
She  had  no  particular  hankering  for  this 
sort  of  pastime;  she  had  never  cared  for 
flirtations. 

"Why'?"  she  asked,  calmly,  immediately 
regretting  the  word;  for  her  question 
sounded  like  coquetry  and  she  intended 
anything  but  that. 

"Why*?"  he  echoed. 

He  looked  at  her  in  slight  surprise  as 
he  sat  near  her,  with  Jules  on  the  ground 
between  them,  against  his  knee,  his  eyes 
closed. 

"Because  .  .  .  because,"  he  stammered, 
"because   you    are   my   friend's    sister,    I 


34  ECSTASY 

suppose,  and  I  had  never  met  you 
here.  .  .  ." 

She  made  no  answer:  in  her  seclusion 
she  had  forgotten  how  to  talk  and  she  did 
not  take  the  least  trouble  about  it. 

"I  used  often  to  see  you  at  the  theatre," 
said  Quaerts,  "when  Mr.  van  Even  was 
still  alive." 

"At  the  opera,"  she  said. 

"Yes." 

"Really?     I  didn't  know  you  then." 

"No." 

"I  have  not  been  out  in  the  evenmg  for 
a  long  time,  because  of  my  mourning." 

"And  I  always  choose  the  evening  to 
come  to  Dolf's." 

"So  that  explains  why  we  have  never 
met. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  she  spoke  very  coldly. 

"I  should  love  to  go  to  the  opera!"  mur- 
mured Jules,  without  opening  his  eyes. 


ECSTASY  35 

"Or  no,  after  all,  I  think  I  would  rather 
not. 

"Dolf  told  me  that  you  read  a  great 
deal,"  Quaerts  continued.  "Do  you  keep 
in  touch  with  modern  literature?" 

"A  little.     I  don't  read  so  very  much." 

"Nor' 

"Oh,  no  I  I  have  two  children;  that 
leaves  me  very  little  time  for  reading. 
Besides,  it  has  no  particular  fascination  for 
me:  life  is  much  more  romantic  than  any 
novel. 

"So  you  are  a  philosopher'?" 

"I?  Oh,  no,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Quaerts ! 
I  am  the  most  commonplace  woman  in  the 
world." 

She  spoke  with  her  wicked  little  laugh 
and  her  cold  voice :  the  voice  and  the  laugh 
which  she  employed  when  she  feared  lest 
she  should  be  wounded  in  her  secret  sen- 
sitiveness and  when  therefore  she  hid  deep 
within    herself,    offering    to    the    outside 


36  ECSTASY 

world  something  very  different  from  what 
she  really  was.  Jules  had  opened  his 
eyes  and  sat  looking  at  her;  and  his  steady 
glance  troubled  her. 

"You  live  in  a  charming  house,  on  the 
Scheveningen  Road." 

"Yes." 

She  realized  suddenly  that  her  cold- 
ness amounted  to  rudeness;  and  she  did 
not  wish  this,  even  though  she  did  dislike 
him.  She  threw  herself  back  negligently ; 
she  asked  at  random,  quite  without  con- 
cern, merely  for  the  sake  of  conversation : 

"Have  you  many  relations  in  The 
Hague*?" 

"No;  my  father  and  mother  live  at  Velp 
and  the  rest  of  my  family  at  Arnhem 
chiefly.  I  never  fix  myself  anywhere;  I 
can't  stay  long  in  one  place.  I  have  spent 
a  good  many  years  in  Brussels." 

"You  have  no  occupation,  I  believe'?" 


ECSTASY  37 

"No.  As  a  boy,  my  one  desire  was  to 
enter  the  navy,  but  I  was  rejected  on  ac- 
count of  my  eyes." 

Involuntarily  she  looked  into  his  eyes: 
small,  deep-set  eyes,  the  colour  of  which 
she  could  not  determine.  She  thought 
they  looked  sly  and  cunning. 

"I  have  always  regretted  it,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  am  a  man  of  action.  I  am 
always  longing  for  action.  I  console  my- 
self as  best  I  can  with  sport." 

"Sport*?"  she  repeated,  coldly. 

"Yes." 

"OhI" 

"Quaerts  is  a  Nimrod  and  a  Centaur 
and  a  Hercules  rolled  into  one,  aren't  you, 
Quaerts?"  said  Jules. 

"Ah,  so  you're  'naming'  me!"  said 
Quaerts,  with  a  laugh.  "Where  do  you 
really  'class'  me'?" 

"Among  the   very  few  people   that  I 


38  ECSTASY 

really  like!"  the  boy  answered,  ardently 
and  without  hesitation.  "Taco,  when 
are  you  going  to  teach  me  to  ride'?" 

"Whenever  you  like,  my  son." 

"Yes,  but  you  must  fix  the  day  for  us 
to  go  to  the  riding-school.  I  won't  fix  a 
day;  I  hate  fixing  days." 

"Well,  shall  we  say  to-morrow'?  To- 
morrow will  be  Wednesday." 

"Very  well." 

Cecile  noticed  that  Jules  was  still  star- 
ing at  her.  She  looked  at  him  back. 
How  was  it  possible  that  the  boy  could 
like  this  man  I  How  was  it  possible  that 
it  irritated  her  and  not  him,  all  that 
health,  that  strength,  that  power  of  muscle 
and  rage  of  sport  I  She  could  make  no- 
thing of  it;  she  understood  neither  Quaerts 
nor  Jules;  and  she  herself  drifted  away 
again  into  that  mood  of  half-conscious- 
ness, in  which  she  did  not  know  what  she 
thought  nor  what  at  that  very  moment  she 


ECSTASY  39 

might  say,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be  lost 
and  wandering  in  search  of  herself. 

She  rose,  tall,  slender  and  frail  in  her 
crape,  like  a  queen  who  mourns,  with  little 
touches  of  gold  in  her  flaxen  hair,  where  a 
small  jet  aigrette  glittered  like  a  black 
mirror. 

"I'm  going  to  see  who's  winning,"  she 
said  and  moved  to  the  card-table  in  the 
other  room. 

She  stood  behind  Mrs.  Hoze,  appeared 
to  be  interested  in  the  game;  but  across 
the  light  of  the  candles  she  peered  at 
Ouaerts  and  Jules.  She  saw  them  talk- 
ing  together,  softly,  confidentially,  Jules 
with  his  arm  on  Quaerts'  knee.  She  saw 
Jules  looking  up,  as  if  in  adoration,  into 
the  face  of  this  man;  and  then  the  boy 
suddenly  threw  his  arms  around  his  friend 
in  a  wild  embrace,  while  the  other  pushed 
him  away  with  a  patient  gesture. 


CHAPTER  III 


NEXT   evening,    Cecile    revelled 
even    more   than    usual    in    the 
luxury  of  being  able  to  stay  at 
home. 

It  was  after  dinner;  she  was  sitting  on 
the  sofa  in  her  little  boudoir  with  Dolf 
and  Christie,  an  arm  thrown  round  each 
of  them,  sitting  between  them,  so  young, 
like  an  elder  sister.  In  her  low  voice  she 
was  telling  them: 

"Judah  came  near  to  him,  and  said,  O 
my  Lord,  let  me  abide  a  bondman  instead 
of  the  lad.  For  our  father,  who  is  such 
an  old  man,  said  to  us,  when  we  left  with 
Benjamin,  My  son  Joseph  I  have  already 
lost;  surely  he  is  torn  in  pieces  by  the  wild 
beasts.     And  if  ye  take  this  also  from  me 

and  mischief  befall  him,  ye  shall  bring 

40 


ECSTASY  41 

down  my  grey  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the 
grave.  Then  (Judah  said)  I  said  to  our 
father  that  I  would  be  surety  for  the  lad 
and  that  I  should  bear  the  blame  if  I  did 
not  bring  Benjamin  home  again.  And 
therefore  I  pray  thee,  O  my  lord,  let  me 
abide  a  bondman,  and  let  the  lad  go  up 
with  his  brethren.  For  how  shall  I  go  up 
to  my  father  if  the  lad  be  not  with  me? 

"And  Joseph,  mamma,  what  did  Joseph 
say*?"  asked  Christie. 

He  had  nestled  closely  against  his 
mother,  this  poor  little  slender  fellow  of 
six,  with  his  fine  golden  hair  and  his  eyes 
of  pale  forget-me-not  blue;  and  his  little 
fingers  hooked  themselves  nervously  into 
Cecile's  gown,  rumpling  the  crape. 

"Then  Joseph  could  not  refrain  him- 
self before  all  them  that  stood  by  him 
and  he  caused  every  man  to  leave  him. 
And  Joseph  made  himself  known  unto  his 


42  ECSTASY 

brethren.  And  he  wept  aloud  and  said, 
I  am  Joseph." 

But  Cecile  could  not  continue  the  story, 
for  Christie  had  thrown  himself  on  her 
neck  in  a  frenzy  of  despair  and  she  heard 
him  sobbing  against  her. 

"Christie!     Darling!" 

She  was  greatly  distressed;  she  had 
grown  interested  in  her  own  recital  and 
had  not  noticed  Christie's  excitement;  and 
now  he  was  sobbing  against  her  in  such 
violent  grief  that  she  could  find  no  word 
to  quiet  him,  to  comfort  him,  to  tell  him 
that  it  ended  happily. 

"But,  Christie,  don't  cry,  don't  cry!  It 
ends  happily." 

"And  Benjamin,  what  about  Ben- 
jamin?" , 

"Benjamin  returned  to  his  father;  and 
Jacob  went  down  into  Egypt  to  live  with 
Joseph." 

The  child  raised  his  wet  face  from  her 


ECSTASY  43 

shoulder  and  looked  at  her  deliberately: 

"Was  it  really  like  that?  Or  are  you 
only  making  it  up?" 

"No,  really,  darling.  Don't,  don't  cry 
any  more.  .  .  ." 

Christie  grew  calmer,  but  he  was  evi- 
dently disappointed.  He  was  not  satis- 
fied with  the  end  of  the  story;  and  yet  it 
was  very  pretty  like  that,  much  prettier 
than  if  Joseph  had  been  angry  and  put 
Benjamin  in  prison. 

"What  a  baby,  Christie,  to  go  crying 
like  that  I"  said  Dolf.  "Why,  it's  only  a 
story." 

Cecile  did  not  reply  that  the  story  had 
really  happened,  because  it  was  in  the 
Bible.  She  had  suddenly  become  very 
sad,  in  doubt  of  herself.  She  fondly  dried 
the  child's  sad  eyes  with  her  pocket- 
handkerchief: 

"And  now,  children,  bed!  It's  late!" 
she  said,  faintly. 


44  ECSTASY 

She  put  them  to  bed,  a  ceremony  which 
lasted  a  long  time;  a  ceremony  with  an 
elaborate  ritual  of  undressing,  washing, 
saying  of  prayers,  tucking  in  and  kissing. 


When,  an  hour  later,  she  was  sitting 
downstairs  again  alone,  she  realized  for 
the  first  time  how  sad  she  felt. 

Ah,  no,  she  did  not  know  I  Amelie  was 
quite  right:  one  never  knew  anything, 
never!  She  had  been  so  happy  that  day; 
she  had  found  herself  again,  deep  in  the 
recesses  of  her  secret  self,  in  the  essence 
of  her  soul ;  all  day  she  had  seen  her  dreams 
hovering  about  her  as  an  apotheosis;  all 
day  she  had  felt  within  her  that  consuming 
love  of  her  children.  She  had  told  them 
stories  out  of  the  Bible  after  dinner;  and 
suddenly,  when  Christie  began  to  cry,  a 
doubt  had  arisen  within  her.  Was  she 
really  good  to  her  little  boys'?     Did  she 


ECSTASY  4^ 

not,  in  her  love,  in  the  tenderness  of  her 
affection  for  them,  spoil  and  weaken 
them'?  Would  she  not  end  by  utterly  un- 
fitting them  for  practical  life,  with  which 
she  did  not  come  into  contact,  but  in  which 
the  children,  when  they  grew  up,  would 
have  to  move'?  It  flashed  through  her 
mind :  parting,  boarding-schools,  her  child- 
ren estranged  from  her,  coming  home 
big,  rough  boys,  smoking  and  swearing, 
with  cynicism  on  their  lips  and  in  their 
hearts:  lips  which  would  no  longer  kiss 
her,  hearts  in  which  she  would  no  longer 
have  a  place.  She  pictured  them  already 
with  the  swagger  of  their  seventeen  or 
eighteen  years,  tramping  across  her  rooms 
in  their  cadet's  and  midshipman's  uni- 
forms, with  broad  shoulders  and  a  hard 
laugh,  flicking  the  ash  from  their  cigars 
upon  the  carpet.  .  .  .  Why  did  Ouaerts' 
image  suddenly  rise  up  in  the  midst  of 
this  cruelty'?     Was  it  chance  or  a  logical 


46  ECSTASY 

consequence?  She  could  not  analyse  it; 
she  could  not  explain  the  presence  of  this 
man,  rising  up  through  her  grief  in  his 
atmosphere  of  antipathy.  But  she  felt 
sad,  sad,  sad,  as  she  had  not  felt  sad  since 
Van  Even's  death;  not  vaguely  melan- 
choly, as  she  so  often  felt,  but  sad,  un- 
doubtedly sorrowful  at  the  thought  of 
what  must  come.  .  .  .  Oh  I  to  have  to  part 
with  her  children !  And  then,  to  be  alone. 
.  .  .  Loneliness,  everlasting  loneliness  I 
Loneliness  within  herself:  that  feeling  of 
which  Jules  had  such  a  dread  I  With- 
drawn from  the  world  which  had  no  charm 
for  her,  sinking  away  alone  into  empti- 
ness! She  was  thirty,  she  was  old,  an  old 
woman.  Her  house  would  be  empty,  her 
heart  empty!  Dreams,  clouds  of  dream- 
ing, which  fly  away,  which  lift  like  smoke, 
revealing  only  emptiness.  Emptiness, 
emptiness,  emptiness!  The  word  each 
time  fell  hollowly,  with  hammer  strokes, 


ECSTASY  47 

upon     her     breast.     Emptiness,     empti- 


ness I 


"Why  am  I  like  this?"  she  asked  her- 
self. "What  ails  me?  What  has  al- 
tered?" 

Never  had  she  felt  that  word  emptiness 
throb  within  her  in  this  way:  that  very 
afternoon  she  had  been  gently  happy,  as 
usual.  And  now!  She  saw  nothing  be- 
fore her:  no  future,  no  life,  nothing  but 
one  great  darkness.  Estranged  from  her 
childen,  alone  within  herself.  .  .  . 

She  rose  with  a  little  moan  of  pain  and 
walked  across  the  boudoir.  The  discreet 
twilight  troubled  her,  oppressed  her. 
She  turned  the  key  of  the  lace-covered 
lamp:  a  golden  gleam  crept  over  the  rose 
folds  of  the  silk  curtains  like  glistening 
water.  A  strange  coolness  wafted  away 
something  of  that  scent  of  violets  which 
hung  about  everything.  A  fire  burned  on 
the  hearth,  but  she  felt  cold. 


48  ECSTASY 

She  stopped  beside  the  low  table;  she 
took  up  a  visiting-card,  with  one  corner 
turned  down,  and  read: 

"T.  H.  Quaerts." 

There  was  a  five-balled  coronet  above 
the  name. 

"QuaertsI" 

How  short  it  sounded  I  A  name  like 
the  smack  of  a  hard  hand.  There  was 
something  bad,  something  cruel  in  the 
name : 

"Quaerts,  QuaertsI   .  .  ." 

She  threw  down  the  bit  of  pasteboard, 
was  angry  with  herself.  She  felt  cold  and 
not  herself,  just  as  she  had  felt  at  the 
Van  Attemas'  last  evening: 

"I  will  not  go  out  again.  Never  again, 
never!"  she  said,  almost  aloud.  "I  am 
so  contented  in  my  own  house,  so  con- 
tented with  my  life,  so  beautifully  happy. 
.  .  .  That  card  I     Why  should  he  leave  a 


ECSTASY  49 

card?  What  do  I  want  with  his 
card?  .  .  ." 

She  sat  down  at  her  writing-table  and 
opened  her  blotting-book.  She  thought 
of  finishing  a  half-wTitten  letter  to  India; 
but  she  was  in  quite  a  different  mood  from 
when  she  had  begun  it.  So  she  took  from 
a  drawer  a  thick  manuscript-book,  her 
diary.  She  wrote  the  date,  then  reflected 
a  moment,  tapping  her  teeth  nervously 
with  the  silver  penholder.  .  .  . 

But  then,  with  a  little  ill-tempered 
gesture,  she  threw  down  the  pen,  pushed 
the  book  aside  and,  letting  her  head  fall 
into  her  hands  on  the  blotting-book, 
sobbed  aloud. 


CHAPTER  IV 


CECILE  was  astonished  at  her  un- 
usually long  fit  of  abstraction, 
that  it  should  continue  for  days 
before  she  returned  to  her  usual  condi- 
tion of  serenity,  the  delightful  abode  from 
which  she  had  involuntarily  wandered. 
But  she  compelled  herself,  with  gentle 
compulsion,  to  recover  the  treasures  of  her 
loneliness;  and  she  ended  by  recovering 
them.  She  argued  with  herself  that  it 
would  be  some  years  before  she  would  have 
to  part  from  Dolf  and  Christie :  there  was 
time  enough  to  grow  accustomed  to  the 
idea  of  separation.  Besides,  nothing  had 
altered  either  about  her  or  within  her;  and 
so  she  let  the  days  glide  slowly  over  her, 

like  gently  flowing  water. 

so 


ECSTASY  51 

In  this  way,  gently  flowing  by,  a  fort- 
night had  elapsed  since  the  evening  which 
she  spent  at  Dolf's.  It  was  a  Saturday 
afternoon;  she  had  been  working  with  the 
children — she  still  taught  them  herself — 
and  she  had  walked  out  with  them;  and 
now  she  was  sitting  in  her  favourite  room 
waiting  for  the  Van  Attemas,  who  came  to 
tea  every  Saturday  at  half-past  four. 
She  rang  for  the  servant,  who  lighted  the 
blue  flame  of  methylated  spirit.  Dolf 
and  Christie  were  with  her;  they  sat  upon 
the  floor  on  footstools,  cutting  the  pages 
of  a  children's  magazine  to  which  Cecile 
subscribed  for  them.  They  were  sitting 
quietly,  looking  very  good  and  well-bred, 
like  children  who  grow  up  in  soft  sur- 
roundings, in  the  midst  o£  too  much  refine- 
ment, too  pale,  with  hair  too  long  and  too 
fair,  Christie  especially,  whose  little  tem- 
ples were  veined  as  if  with  azure  blood. 
Cecile  stepped  by  them  as  she  went  to 


52  ECSTASY 

glance  over  the  tea-table;  and  the  look 
which  she  cast  upon  them  wrapped  the 
children  in  a  warm  embrace  of  devotion. 
She  was  in  her  calmly  happy  mood :  it  was 
so  pleasant  to  think  that  she  would  soon 
see  the  Van  Attemas  come  in.  vShe  liked 
these  hours  of  the  afternoon,  when  her 
silver  tea-kettle  hissed  over  the  blue  flame. 
An  exquisite  intimacy  filled  the  room;  she 
had  in  her  long,  shapely  feminine  fingers 
that  special  power  of  witchery,  that  gentle 
art  of  handling  by  which  everything  over 
which  they  merely  glided  acquired  a  look 
of  herself,  an  indefinable  something,  of 
tint,  of  position,  of  light,  which  the  things 
had  not  until  the  touch  of  those  fingers 
came  across  them. 

There  was  a  ring.  She  thought  it 
rather  early  for  the  Van  Attemas,  but  she 
rarely  saw  any  one  else  in  her  seclusion 
from  the  outer  world;  therefore  it  must  be 
they.     In  a  second  or  two,  however,  Greta 


ECSTASY  ^3 

entered,  with  a  card:  was  mevrouw  at 
home  and  could  the  gentleman  see  her*? 

Cecile  recognized  the  card  from  a  dis- 
tance :  she  had  seen  one  like  it  lately. 
Nevertheless  she  took  it  up,  glanced  at  it 
discontentedly,  with  drawn  eyebrows. 

What  an  idea,  she  reflected.  Why  did 
he  do  it?     What  did  it  mean *? 

But  she  thought  it  unnecessary  to  be  im- 
polite and  refuse  to  see  him.  After  all, 
he  was  a  friend  of  Dolf's.  But  such  per- 
sistence .  .  . 

"Show  meneer  in,"  she  said,  calmly. 

Greta  went;  and  it  seemed  to  Cecile  as 
though  something  trembled  in  the  in- 
timacy which  filled  the  room,  as  if  the 
objects  over  which  her  fingers  had  just 
passed  took  on  another  aspect,  a  look  of 
shuddering.  But  Dolf  and  Christie  had 
not  changed;  they  were  still  sitting  look- 
ing at  the  pictures,  with  occasional  re- 
marks falling  softly  from  their  lips. 


54  ECSTASY 


The  door  opened  and  Quaerts  entered 
the  room.  As  he  bowed  to  Cecile,  he  had 
his  air  of  shyness  in  still  greater  measure 
than  before.  To  her  this  air  was  incom- 
prehensible in  him,  who  seemed  so  strong, 
so  determined. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  indiscreet, 
mevrouw,  in  taking  the  liberty  to  come 
and  call  on  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Quaerts,"  she 
said,  coldly.     "Pray  sit  down." 

He  took  a  chair  and  placed  his  tall  hat 
on  the  floor  beside  him: 

"I  am  not  disturbing  you,  mevrouw*?" 

"Not  in  the  least;  I  am  expecting  Mrs. 
van  Attema  and  her  daughters.  You 
were  so  kind  as  to  leave  a  card  on  me; 
but,  as  I  dare  say  you  know,  I  see  no- 
body." 

"I  knew  that,  mevrouw.     Perhaps  it  is 


ECSTASY  SS 

to  that  very  reason  that  you  owe  the  in- 
discretion of  my  visit." 

She  looked  at  him  coldly,  politely,  smi- 
lingly. There  was  a  feeling  of  irritation 
in  her.  She  felt  inclined  to  ask  him 
bluntly  what  he  wanted  with  her. 

"How  so*?"  she  asked,  with  her  man- 
nerly smile,  which  converted  her  face  into 
a  mask. 

"I  was  afraid  that  I  might  not  see  you 
for  a  very  long  time;  and  I  should  con- 
sider it  a  great  privilege  to  be  allowed  to 
know  you  better." 

His  tone  was  in  the  highest  degree  re- 
spectful. She  raised  her  eyebrows,  as  if 
she  did  not  understand;  but  the  accent  of 
his  voice  was  so  very  courteous  that  she 
could  not  even  iind  a  cold  word  with  which 
to  answer  him. 

"Are  these  your  two  children?"  he 
asked,  with  a  glance  towards  Dolf  and 
Christie. 


56  ECSTASY 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "Get  up,  boys,  and 
shake  hands  with  meneer." 

The  children  approached  timidly  and 
put  out  their  little  hands.  He  smiled, 
looked  at  them  penetratingly  with  his 
small,  deep-set  eyes  and  drew  them  to  him : 

"Am  I  mistaken,  or  is  the  little  one  very 
like  you?" 

"They  both  resemble  their  father,"  she 
replied. 

It  seemed  to  her  she  had  set  a  protecting 
shield  around  herself,  from  which  the 
children  were  excluded,  within  which  she 
found  it  impossible  to  draw^  them.  It 
troubled  her  that  he  was  holding  them  so 
tight,  that  he  looked  at  them  as  he  did. 

But  he  released  them;  and  they  went 
back  to  their  little  stools,  gentle,  quiet, 
well-behaved. 

"Yet  they  both  have  something  of  you," 
he  insisted. 

"Possiblv,"  she  said. 


ECSTASY  57 

"Me\ Touw,"  he  resumed,  as  if  he  had 
something  important  to  say  to  her,  "I  wish 
to  ask  you  a  direct  question :  tell  me  hon- 
estly, quite  honestly,  do  you  think  me  in- 
discreet?" 

"For  calling  to  see  me?  No,  I  assure 
you,  Mr.  Ouaerts.  It  is  very  kind  of  you. 
Only  ...  if  I  may  be  candid  .  .  ." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"Of  course,"  he  said. 

"Then  I  will  confess  that  I  fear  you  will 
find  little  in  my  house  to  amuse  you.  I 
never  see  people  .   .  ." 

"I  have  not  called  on  you  for  the  sake 
of  the  people  I  might  meet  at  your  house." 

She  bowed,  smiling,  as  if  he  had  paid 
her  a  compliment: 

"Of  course  I  am  very  pleased  to  see 
you.  You  are  a  great  friend  of  Dolf 's,  are 
you  not?" 

She  tried  each  time  to  say  something 
different  from  what  she  actually  did  say, 


58  ECSTASY 

to  speak  more  coldly,  more  aggressively; 
but  she  had  too  much  breeding  and  could 
not  bring  herself  to  do  it. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "D®lf  and  I  have 
known  each  other  ever  so  long.  We  have 
always  been  great  friends,  though  we  are 
quite  unlike." 

"I'm  very  fond  of  him;  he's  always  very 
kind  to  us." 

She  saw  him  look  at  the  low  table  and 
smile.  A  few  reviews  were  scattered  on 
it,  a  book  or  two.  On  the  top  of  these  lay 
a  little  volum.e  of  Emerson's  essays,  with 
a  paper-cutter  marking  the  page. 

"You  told  me  you  were  not  a  great 
reader!"  he  said,  mischievously.  "I 
should  think  .  .  ." 

And  he  pointed  to  the  books. 

"Oh,"  said  she,  carelessly,  with  a  slight 
shrug  of  her  shoulders,  "a  little  .  .  ." 

She  thought  him  very  tiresome:  why 
should  he  remark  that  she  had  hidden  her- 


ECSTASY  59 

self  from  him'?  Why,  indeed,  had  she 
hidden  herself  from  him? 

"Emerson  I"  he  read,  bending  forward 
a  little.  "Forgive  me,"  he  added  quickly. 
"I  have  no  right  to  spy  upon  your  pur- 
suits. But  the  print  is  so  large;  I  read  it 
from  here." 

"You  are  far-sighted'?"  she  asked, 
laughing. 

"Yes." 

His  courtesy,  a  certain  respectfulness,  as 
if  he  would  not  venture  to  touch  the  tips 
of  her  fingers,  placed  her  more  at  her  ease. 
She  still  disliked  him,  but  there  was  no 
harm  in  his  knowing  what  she  read. 

"Are  you  fond  of  reading?"  asked  Ce- 
cile. 

"I  do  not  read  much:  it  is  too  great  a 
delight  for  that;  nor  do  I  read  every- 
thing that  appears.  I  am  too  hard  to 
please." 

"Do  you  know  Emerson?" 


6o  ECSTASY 

"No.  .  .  ." 

"I  like  his  essays  very  much.  They  are 
written  with  such  a  wide  outlook.  They 
place  one  on  such  a  deliciously  exalted 
level.   .   .   ." 

She  suited  her  phrase  with  an  expansive 
gesture;  and  her  eyes  lighted  up. 

Then  she  observed  that  he  was  follow- 
ing her  attentively,  with  his  respectful- 
ness. And  she  recovered  herself;  she  no 
longer  wanted  to  talk  to  him  about  Emer- 
son. 

"It  is  very  fine  indeed,"  was  all  she  said, 
to  close  the  conversation,  in  the  most  com- 
monplace voice  that  she  was  able  to  as- 
sume.    "May  I  give  you  some  teaT' 

"No,  thank  you,  mevrouw;  I  never  take 
tea  at  this  time." 

"Do  you  look  upon  it  with  so  much 
scorn'?"  she  asked,  jestingly. 

He  was  about  to  answer,  when  there 
was  a  ring  at  the  bell ;  and  she  cried : 


ECSTASY  61 

"Ah,  here  they  are!" 

Amelie  entered,  with  Suzette  and  Anna. 
They  were  a  little  surprised  to  see  Quaerts. 
He  said  he  had  wanted  to  call  on  Mrs.  van 
Even.  The  conversation  became  general. 
Suzette  was  very  merry,  full  of  a  fancy- 
fair,  at  which  she  was  going  to  assist,  in  a 
Spanish  costume. 

"Andyou,Anna'?" 

"Oh,  no,  Auntie  I"  said  Anna,  shrink- 
ing together  with  fright.  "Imagine  me  at 
a  fancy-fair  I  I  should  never  sell  any- 
body anything." 

"Ah,  it's  a  gift!"  said  Amelie,  with  a 
far-away  look. 

Quaerts  rose:  he  was  bowing  with  a 
single  word  to  Cecile,  when  the  door 
opened.  Jules  came  in,  with  some  books 
under  his  arm,  on  his  way  home  from 
school. 

"How  do  you  do.  Auntie?  Hallo, 
Taco,  are  you  going  just  as  I  arrive?" 


62  ECSTASY 

"You  drive  me  away,"  said  Quaerts, 
laughing. 

"Oh,  Taco,  do  stay  a  little  longer  I" 
begged  Jules,  enraptured  to  see  him  and 
lamenting  that  he  had  chosen  just  this 
moment  to  leave. 

"Jules,  Jules!"  cried  Amelie,  thinking 
it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do. 

Jules  pressed  Quaerts,  took  his  two 
hands,  forced  him,  like  a  spoilt  child. 
Quaerts  only  laughed.  Jules  in  his  ex- 
citement knocked  a  book  or  two  off  the 
table. 

"Jules,  be  quiet,  do  I"  cried  Amelie. 

Quaerts  picked  up  the  books,  while 
Jules  persisted  in  his  bad  behaviour.  As 
Quaerts  replaced  the  last  book,  he  hesi- 
tated a  moment;  he  held  it  in  his  hand, 
looked  at  the  gold  lettering:  "Emer- 
son. 

Cecile  watched  him: 


ECSTASY  63 

'If  he  thinks  I'm  going  to  lend  it  him, 
he's  mistaken,"  she  thought. 

But  Ouaerts  asked  nothing:  he  had  re- 
leased himself  from  Jules  and  said  good- 
bye.    With  a  quip  at  Jules  he  left. 

3 

"Is  this  the  first  time  he  has  been  to 
see  you'?"  asked  Amelie. 

"Yes,"  replied  Cecile.  "An  uncalled- 
for  civility,  don't  you  think?" 

"Taco  Quaerts  is  always  very  correct 
in  matters  of  etiquette,"  said  Anna,  de- 
fending him. 

"Still,  this  visit  was  hardly  a  matter  of 
etiquette,"  said  Cecile,  laughing  merrily. 
"But  Taco  Quaerts  seems  to  be  quite  in- 
fallible in  the  eyes  of  all  of  you." 

"He  waltzes  divinely  I"  cried  Suzette. 
"The  other  day,  at  the  Eekhofs' 
dance  ..." 

Suzette  chattered  on;  there  was  no  re- 


64  ECSTASY 

straining  Suzette  that  afternoon;  she 
seemed  already  to  hear  the  castanets  rat- 
tling in  her  little  brain. 

Jules  had  a  peevish  fit  on  him,  but  he 
remained  quietly  at  a  window,  with  the 
boys. 

"You  don't  much  care  about  Quaerts,  do 
you.  Auntie?"  asked  Anna. 

"I  don't  find  him  attractive,"  said 
Cecile.  "You  know,  I  am  easily  influ- 
enced by  my  first  impressions.  I  can't 
help  it,  but  I  don't  like  those  very  healthy, 
robust  people,  who  look  so  strong  and 
manly,  as  if  they  walked  straight  through 
life,  clearing  away  everything  that  stands 
in  their  way.  It  may  be  morbid  of  me, 
but  I  can't  help  it;  I  always  dislike  any 
excessive  display  of  health  and  physical 
force.  Those  strong  people  look  upon 
others  who  are  not  so  strong  as  themselves 
much  as  the  Spartans  used  to  look  upon 
their  deformed  children." 


ECSTASY  65 

Jules  could  control  himself  no  longer: 

"If  you  think  that  Taco  is  no  better  than 
a  Spartan,  you  know  nothing  at  all  about 
him,"  he  said,  fiercely. 

Cecile  looked  at  him,  but,  before  Amelie 
could  interpose,  he  continued: 

"Taco  is  the  only  person  with  whom  I 
can  talk  about  music  and  who  understands 
every  word  I  say.  And  I  don't  believe  I 
could  talk  with  a  Spartan." 

"Jules,  how  rude  you  arel"  cried  Su- 
zette. 

"I  don't  care!"  he  exclaimed,  furiously, 
rising  suddenly  and  stamping  his  foot. 
"I  don't  care!  I  won't  hear  Taco  abused; 
and  Aunt  Cecile  knows  it  and  only  does  it 
to  tease  me.  And  I  think  it  very  mean  to 
tease  a  boy,  very  mean.  .  .  ." 

His  mother  and  sisters  tried  to  bring 
him  to  reason  with  their  authority.  But 
he  caught  up  his  books : 

"I  don't  care!     I  won't  have  it!" 


66  ECSTASY 

He  was  gone  in  a  moment,  furious,  slam- 
ming the  door,  which  groaned  with  the 
shock.  Amelie  was  trembling  in  every 
nerve : 

"Oh.  that  boy  I"  she  hissed  out,  shiver- 
ing.    "That  Jules,  that  Jules!  .  .  ." 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Cecile,  gently,  ex- 
cusing him.  "He  is  just  a  little  exci- 
table. .  .  ." 

She  had  turned  rather  paler  and  glanced 
at  her  boys,  Dolf  and  Christie,  who  had 
looked  up  in  dismay,  their  mouths  wide 
open  with  astonishment. 

"Is  Jules  naughty,  mamma?"  asked 
Christie. 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling.  She  felt 
a  strange,  an  unspeakably  strange  weari- 
ness. She  did  not  know  what  it  meant; 
but  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  very  distant 
vistas  were  opening  before  her  eyes  and 
fading  into  the  horizon,  pale,  in  a  great 
light.     Nor  did  she  know  what  this  meant; 


ECSTASY  67 

but  she  was  not  angry  with  Jules  and  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  he  had  lost  his  temper, 
not  with  her,  but  with  somebody  else.  A 
sense  of  the  enigmatical  depth  of  life,  the 
soul's  unconscious  mystery,  like  to  a  fair, 
bright  endlessness,  a  far-away  silvery 
light,  shot  through  her  in  silent  rapture. 

Then  she  laughed: 

"Jules  is  so  nice,"  she  said,  "when  he 
gets  excited." 

Anna  and  Suzette,  upset  at  the  incident, 
played  with  the  boys,  looking  over  their 
picture-books.  Cecile  spoke  only  to  her 
sister.  But  Amelie's  nerves  were  still 
quivering. 

"How  can  you  defend  those  ways  of 
Jules'?"  she  asked,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"I  think  it  nice  of  him  to  stand  up  for 
people  he  likes.  Don't  you  think  so 
too?' 

Amelie  grew  calmer.  Why  should  she 
be  put  out  if  Cecile  was  not? 


68  ECSTASY 

"I  dare  say,"  she  replied.  "I  don't 
know.  He  has  a  good  heart  I  believe,  but 
he  is  so  unmanageable.  But,  who  knows, 
perhaps  it's  my  fault:  if  I  understood 
things  better,  if  I  had  more  tact  .  .  ." 

She  grew  confused;  she  sought  for  some- 
thing more  to  say  and  found  nothing,  wan- 
dering like  a  stranger  through  her  own 
thoughts.  Then,  suddenly,  as  if  struck 
by  a  ray  of  certain  knowledge,  she  said : 

"But  Jules  is  not  stupid.  He  has  a 
good  eye  for  all  sorts  of  things  and  for 
persons  too.  Personally,  I  think  you 
judge  Taco  Quaerts  wrongly.  He  is  a 
very  interesting  man  and  a  great  deal  more 
than  a  mere  sportsman.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  there's  something  about  him 
different  from  other  people,  I  can't  say  ex- 
actly what.  .  .  ." 

She  was  silent,  seeking,  groping. 

"I  wish  Jules  got  on  better  at  school. 
As  I  say,  he  is  not  stupid,  but  he  learns 


ECSTASY  69 

nothing.  He  has  been  two  years  now  in 
the  third  class.  The  boy  has  no  applica- 
tion.    He  makes  me  despair  of  him." 

She  was  silent  again ;  and  Cecile  also  did 
not  speak. 

"Ah,"  said  Amelie,  "I  dare  say  it  is  not 
his  fault  I  Very  likely  it  is  my  fault. 
Perhaps  he  takes  after  me.  .  .  ." 

She  looked  straight  before  her :  sudden, 
irrepressible  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  fell 
into  her  lap. 

"Amy,  what's  the  matter'?"  asked  Ce- 
cile, kindly. 

But  Amelie  had  risen,  so  that  the  girls, 
who  were  still  playing  with  the  children, 
might  not  see  her  tears.  She  could  not 
restrain  them,  they  streamed  down  and  she 
hurried  away  into  the  adjoining  drawing- 
room,  a  big  room  in  which  Cecile  never  sat. 

"What's  the  matter.  Amy'?"  Cecile  re- 
peated. 

She  had  followed  Amelie  out  and  now 


70  ECSTASY 

threw  her  arms  about  her,  made  her  sit 
down,  pressed  Amelie's  head  against  her 
shoulder. 

"How  do  I  know  what  it  is'?"  Amelie 
sobbed.  "I  don't  know,  I  don't  know. 
.  .  .  I  am  wretched  because  of  that  feeling 
in  my  head.  It  is  more  than  I  can  bear 
sometimes.  After  all,  I  am  not  mad,  am 
I?  Really,  I  don't  feel  mad,  or  as  if  I 
were  going  mad  I  But  I  feel  sometimes  as 
if  everything  had  gone  wrong  in  my  head, 
as  if  I  couldn't  think.  Everything  runs 
through  my  brain.  It's  a  terrible  feel- 
mg! 

"Why  don't  you  see  a  doctor?"  asked 
Cecile. 

"No,  no,  he  might  tell  me  I  was  mad; 
and  I'm  not.  He  might  try  to  send  me  to 
an  asylum.  No,  I  won't  see  a  doctor.  I 
have  every  reason  to  be  happy  otherwise, 
have  I  not?  I  have  a  kind  husband  and 
dear  children ;  I  have  never  had  any  great 


ECSTASY  71 

sorrow.  And  yet  I  sometimes  feel  pro- 
foundly miserable,  desperately  miserable ! 
It  is  always  as  if  I  wanted  to  reach  some 
place  and  could  not  succeed.  It  is  always 
as  if  I  were  hemmed  in.  .  .  ." 

She  sobbed  violently;  a  storm  of  tears 
rained  down  her  face.  Cecile's  eyes,  too, 
were  moist;  she  liked  her  sister,  she  felt 
sorry  for  her.  Amelie  was  only  ten  years 
older  than  she ;  and  already  she  had  some- 
thing of  an  old  woman  about  her,  some- 
thing withered  and  shrunken,  with  her 
hair  growing  grey  at  the  temples,  under 
her  veil. 

"Cecile,  tell  me,  Cecile,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly, through  her  sobs,  "do  you  believe  in 
God?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  do,  Amy  I" 

"I  used  to  go  to  church  sometimes,  but 
it  was  no  use.  .  .  .  And  I've  stopped  go- 
ing. .  .  .  Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy!  It  is 
very  ungrateful  of  me.     I  have  so  much  to 


72  ECSTASY 

be  grateful  for.  .  .  .  Do  you  know,  some- 
times I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  go  to 
God  at  once,  all  at  once,  just  like  that  I" 

"Come,    Amy,    don't    excite    yourself 

J) 
so. 

"Ah,  I  wish  I  were  like  you,  so  calm  I 
Do  you  feel  happy?" 

Cecile  smiled  and  nodded.  Amelie 
sighed;  she  remained  lying  for  a  moment 
with  her  head  against  her  sister's  shoul- 
der. Cecile  kissed  her,  but  suddenly 
Amelie  started: 

"Be  careful,"  she  whispered,  "the  girls 
might  come  in.  There  .  .  .  there's  no 
need  for  them  to  see  that  I've  been  cry- 
mg. 

Rising,  she  arranged  her  hat  before  the 
looking-glass,  carefully  dried  her  veil 
with  her  handkerchief: 

"There,  now  they  won't  know,"  she 
said.  "Let's  go  in  again.  I  am  quite 
calm.     You're  a  dear  thing.  .  .  ." 


ECSTASY  73 

They  went  back  to  the  boudoir : 

"Come,  girls,  it's  time  to  go  home,"  said 
Amelie,  in  a  voice  which  was  still  a  little 
unsettled. 

"Have  you  been  crying,  Mamma?" 
Suzette  at  once  asked. 

"Mamma  was  a  bit  upset  about  Jules," 
said  Cecile,  quickly. 


CHAPTER  V 

CECILE  was  alone;  the  children 
had  gone  upstairs  to  tidy  them- 
selves for  dinner.  She  tried  to 
get  back  her  distant  vistas,  fading  into 
the  pale  horizon;  she  tried  to  recover  the 
silvery  endlessness  which  had  shot  through 
her  as  a  vision  of  light.  But  instead  her 
brain  was  all  awhirl  with  a  kaleidoscope 
of  very  recent  petty  memories:  the  child- 
ren, Quaerts,  Emerson,  Jules,  Suzette, 
Amelie.  How  strange,  how  strange  life 
was  I  .  .  .  The  outer  life ;  the  coming  and 
going  of  people  about  us;  the  sounds  of 
words  which  they  utter  in  strange  accents; 
the  endless  interchange  of  phenomena;  the 
concatenation  of  those  phenomena,  one 
with  the  other;  strange,  too,  the  presence 
of  a  soul  somewhere  inside  us,  like  a  god 

74 


ECSTASY  75 

within  us,  never  to  be  known  in  our  own 
essence.  Often,  as  indeed  now,  it  seemed 
to  Cecile  that  all  things,  even  the  most 
commonplace  things,  were  strange,  very 
strange,  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  were 
absolutely  commonplace,  as  if  everything 
were  strange:  the  strange  form  and  out- 
ward expression  of  a  deeper  life  that  lies 
hidden  behind  everything,  even  the  mean- 
est objects;  as  if  everything  displayed  it- 
self under  an  appearance,  a  mask  of  pre- 
tence, while  the  reality,  the  very  truth,  lay 
underneath.  How  strange,  how  strange 
life  was!  .  .  .  For  it  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she,  under  that  very  usual  afternoon  tea, 
had  seen  something  very  unusual ;  she  did 
not  know  what,  she  could  not  express  it 
nor  even  think  it  thoroughly;  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  beneath  the  coming  and  going  of 
those  people  something  had  glittered:  a 
reality,  an  ultimate  truth  under  the  ap- 
pearance of  that  casual  afternoon  tea. 


76  ECSTASY 

"What  is  it*?  What  is  it?'  she  won- 
dered. "Am  I  deluding  myself,  or  is  it 
so'?     I  feel  that  it  is  so.  .  .  ." 

It  was  all  very  vague  and  yet  so  very 
clear.  ...  It  seemed  to  her  as  though 
there  were  a  vision,  a  haze  of  light  be- 
hind all  that  had  happened  there,  behind 
Amelie  and  Jules  and  Quaerts  and  the 
book  which  he  had  picked  up  from  the  floor 
and  held  in  his  hand  for  a  moment.  .  .  . 
Did  that  vision,  that  haze  of  light  mean 
anything,  or  .  .  . 

But  she  shook  her  head : 

"I  am  dreaming,  I  am  giving  way  to 
fancy,"  she  laughed,  within  herself.  "It 
was  all  very  simple;  I  only  make  it  com- 
plex because  it  amuses  me  to  do  so." 

But  she  had  no  sooner  thought  this  than 
she  felt  something  which  denied  the 
thought  absolutely,  an  intuition  which 
should  have  made  her  guess  the  essence 
of  the  truth,  but  did  not  quite  succeed. 


ECSTASY  77 

Surely  there  was  something,  something 
behind  it  all,  hiding  away,  lurking  as  the 
shadow  lurked  behind  the  thing;  and  the 
shadow  appeared  to  her  as  a  vision  and 
haze  of  light.  .  .  . 

Her  thoughts  still  wandered  over  all 
those  people  and  finally  halted  at  Taco 
Ouaerts.  She  saw  him  sitting  there  again, 
bending  slightly  forward  in  her  direction, 
his  hands  folded  and  hanging  between  his 
knees,  as  he  looked  up  to  her.  A  barrier 
of  aversion  had  stood  between  them  like 
an  iron  bar.  She  saw  him  sitting  there 
again,  though  he  was  gone.  That  again 
was  past:  how  quickly  everything  moved; 
how  small  was  the  speck  of  the  present! 

She  rose,  sat  down  at  her  writing-table 
and  wrote: 

"Beneath  me  flows  the  sea  of  the  past; 
above  me  drifts  the  ether  of  the  future; 
and  I  stand  midway  upon  the  one  speck  of 


78  ECSTASY 

reality,  so  small  that  I  must  press  my  feet 
firmly  together  lest  I  lose  my  hold.  And 
from  the  speck  of  the  present  my  sorrow 
looks  down  upon  the  sea  and  my  longing 
up  to  the  sky. 

"It  is  scarcely  life  to  stand  upon  this 
speck,  so  small  that  I  hardly  appreciate  it, 
hardly  feel  it  beneath  my  feet;  and  yet 
to  me  it  is  the  one  reality.  I  am  not 
greatly  occupied  about  it:  my  eyes  only 
follow  the  rippling  of  those  waves  towards 
distant  horizons,  the  gliding  of  those 
clouds  towards  distant  spheres,  vague 
manifestations  of  endless  change,  trans- 
lucent ephemeras,  visible  incorporeities. 
The  present  is  the  only  thing  that  is,  or 
rather  that  seems  to  be.  The  speck  is,  or 
at  least  appears  to  be,  but  not  the  sea  be- 
low nor  the  sky  above,  for  the  sea  is  but  a 
memory  and  the  air  but  an  illusion.  Yet 
memory  and  illusion  are  everything:  they 
are  the  wide  inheritance  of  the  soul,  which 


ECSTASY  79 

alone  can  escape  from  the  speck  of  the 
moment  to  float  upon  the  sea  towards  the 
horizons  which  retreat,  to  drift  upon  the 
clouds  towards  the  spheres  which  retreat 
and  retreat.  .  .  ." 

Then  she  reflected.  How  was  it  that 
she  had  written  all  this  and  why?  How 
had  she  come  to  write  it?  She  went  back 
upon  her  thoughts :  the  present,  the  speck 
of  the  present,  which  was  so  small.  .  .  . 
Ouaerts,  Quaerts'  very  attitude,  rising  up 
before  her  just  now.  Was  he  in  any  way 
concerned  with  her  writing  down  those 
sentences?  The  past  a  sorrow;  the  fu- 
ture an  illusion.  .  .  .  Why,  why  illu- 
sion? 

"And  Jules,  who  likes  him,"  she 
thought.  "And  Amelie,  who  spoke  of 
him  .  .  .  but  she  knows  nothing.  .  .  . 
What  is  there  in  him,  what  lurks  behind 
him:  his  visionary  image?     Why  did  he 


8o  ECSTASY 

come  here?  Why  do  I  dislike  him  so? 
Do  I  dislike  him?  I  cannot  see  into  his 
eyes.  .  .  ." 

She  would  have  liked  to  do  this  once; 
she  would  have  liked  to  make  sure  that 
she  disliked  him  or  that  she  did  not:  one 
or  the  other.  She  was  curious  to  see  him 
once  more,  to  know  what  she  would  think 
and  feel  about  him  then.  .  .  . 

She  had  risen  from  her  writing-table  and 
now  lay  at  full  length  on  the  sofa,  with  her 
arms  folded  behind  her  head.  She  no 
longer  knew  what  she  dreamt,  but  she  felt 
peacefully  happy.  She  heard  Dolf  and 
Christie  come  down  the  stairs.  The-y 
came  in,  it  was  dinner-time. 

"Jules  was  really  naughty  just  now, 
wasn't  he,  Mummy?"  Christie  asked 
again,  with  a  grave  face. 

She  drew  the  frail  little  fellow  gently 
to  her,  took  him  tightly  in  her  arms  and 


ECSTASY  81 

fondly   kissed   his   moist,    pale-raspberry 

lips: 

"No,    really   not,    darling!"    she    said. 
"He  wasn't  naughty,  really.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  VI 


CECILE  passed  through  the  long 
hall,  which  was  almost  a  gallery: 
footmen  stood  on  either  side  of 
the  hangings;  a  hum.  of  voices  came  from 
behind.  The  train  of  her  dress  rustled 
against  the  leaves  of  a  palm;  and  the 
sound  gave  a  sudden  jar  to  the  strung 
cords  of  her  sensitiveness.  She  was  a  lit- 
tle nervous;  her  eyelids  quivered  slightly 
and  her  mouth  had  a  very  earnest  fold. 

She  walked  in;  there  was  much  light, 
but  soft  light,  the  light  of  candles  only. 
Two  officers  stepped  aside  for  her  as  she 
stood  hesitating.  Her  eyes  glanced  round 
in  search  of  Mrs.  Hoze ;  she  saw  her  stand- 
ing among  two  or  three  of  her  guests,  with 

82 


ECSTASY  83 

her  grey  hair,  her  kindly  and  yet  haughty 
face,  rosy  and  smooth,  almost  without  a 
wrinkle. 

Mrs.  Hoze  came  towards  her: 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  charming  I  think 
it  of  you  not  to  have  played  me  false  I" 
she  said,  pressing  Cecile's  hand  with  ef- 
fusive and  hospitable  urbanity. 

She  introduced  people  to  Cecile  here 
and  there;  Cecile  heard  names  the  sound 
of  which  at  once  escaped  her. 

"General,  allow  me  .  .  .  Mrs.  van 
Even,"  Mrs.  Hoze  whispered  and  left  her, 
to  speak  to  some  one  else. 

Cecile  drew  a  deep  breath,  pressed  her 
hand  to  the  edge  of  her  bodice,  as  though 
to  arrange  something  that  had  slipped 
from  its  place,  answered  the  general  cur- 
sorily. She  was  very  pale;  and  her  eye- 
lids quivered  more  and  more.  She  ven- 
tured to  throw  a  glance  round  the  room. 


84  ECSTASY 

She  stood  next  to  the  general,  forcing 
herself  to  listen,  so  as  not  to  give  answers 
that  would  sound  strikingly  foolish.  She 
was  very  tall,  slender,  and  straight,  with 
her  shoulders,  white  as  sunlit  marble,  blos- 
soming out  of  a  sombre  vase  of  black :  fine, 
black,  trailing  tulle,  sprinkled  all  over 
with  small  jet  spangles;  glittering  black 
on  dull  transparent  black.  A  girdle  with 
tassels  of  jet,  hanging  low,  was  wound 
about  her  waist.  So  she  stood,  blonde: 
blonde  and  black;  a  little  sombre  amid  the 
warmth  and  light  of  other  toilettes;  and, 
for  unique  relief,  two  diamonds  in  her  ears, 
like  dewdrops. 

Her  thin  suede-covered  fingers  trembled 
as  she  manipulated  her  fan,  a  black  tulle 
transparency,  on  which  the  same  jet  span- 
gles glittered  with  black  lustre.  Her 
breath  came  short  behind  the  strokes  of  the 
diaphanous  fan  as  she  talked  with  the  ge- 
neral, a  spare,  bald,  distinguished-looking 


ECSTASY  85 

man,  not  in  uniform,  but  wearing  his 
decorations. 

Mrs.  Hoze's  guests  walked  about,  greet- 
ing one  another  here  and  there,  with  a  con- 
tinuous hum  of  voices.  Cecile  saw  Taco 
Ouaerts  come  up  to  her;  he  bowed  before 
her;  she  bowed  coldly  in  return,  not  of- 
fering him  her  hand.  He  lingered  by  her 
for  a  moment,  spoke  a  word  or  two  and 
then  passed  on,  greeting  other  acquaint- 
ances. 

Mrs.  Hoze  had  taken  the  arm  of  an  old 
gentleman;  a  procession  formed  slowly. 
The  servants  threw  back  the  doors ;  a  table 
glittered  beyond,  half-visible.  The  ge- 
neral offered  Cecile  his  arm,  as  she  stood 
looking  behind  her  with  a  listless  turn  of 
her  neck.  She  closed  her  eyelids  for  a 
second,  to  prevent  their  quivering.  Her 
brows  contracted  with  a  sense  of  disap- 
pointment; but  smilingly  she  laid  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  on  the  general's  arm  and 


86  ECSTASY 

with   her   closed    fan    smoothed    away   a 
crease  from  the  tulle  of  her  train. 


When  Cecile  was  seated  she  found 
Quaerts  sitting  on  her  right.  Then  her 
disappointment  vanished,  the  disappoint- 
ment which  she  had  felt  at  not  being  taken 
in  to  dinner  by  him;  but  her  look  remained 
cold,  as  usual.  And  yet  she  had  what  she 
wished;  the  expectation  with  which  she 
had  come  to  this  dinner  was  fulfilled. 
Mrs.  Hoze  had  seen  Cecile  at  the  Van 
Attemas'  and  had  gladly  undertaken  to 
restore  the  young  widow  to  society.  Ce- 
cile knew  that  Quaerts  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  Mrs.  Hoze's;  she  had  heard  from 
Amelie  that  he  was  invited  to  the  dinner; 
and  she  had  accepted.  That  Mrs.  Hoze, 
remembering  that  Cecile  had  met  Quaerts 
before,  had  placed  him  next  to  her  was 
easy  to  understand. 


ECSTASY  87 

Cecile  was  very  inquisitive  about  her- 
self. How  would  she  feel?  At  least  in- 
terested :  she  could  not  disguise  that  from 
herself.  She  was  certainly  interested  in 
him,  remembering  what  Jules  had  said, 
what  Amelie  had  said.  She  already  felt 
that  behind  the  mere  sportsman  there 
lurked  another,  whom  she  longed  to  know. 
Why  should  she?  What  concern  was  it 
of  hers?  She  could  not  tell;  but,  in  any 
case,  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  as  a  puzzle, 
it  awoke  her  interest.  And,  at  the  same 
time,  she  remained  on  her  guard,  tor  she 
did  not  think  that  his  visit  to  her  was 
strictly  in  order;  and  there  were  stories  in 
which  the  name  of  that  married  woman 
was  coupled  with  his. 

She  succeeded  in  freeing  herself  from 
her  conversation  with  the  general,  who 
seemed  to  feel  called  upon  to  entertain 
her,  and  it  was  she  who  spoke  first  to 
Ouaerts: 


88  ECSTASY 

"Have  you  begun  to  give  Jules  his  ri- 
ding-lessons?" she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

He  looked  at  her,  evidently  a  little  sur- 
prised at  her  voice  and  her  smile,  which 
were  both  new  to  him.  He  returned  a 
bare  answer: 

"Yes,  mevrouw,  we  were  at  the  riding- 
school  yesterday.  .  .  ." 

She  at  once  thought  him  clumsy,  to  let 
the  conversation  drop  like  that;  but  he 
enquired  with  that  slight  shyness  which 
became  a  charm  in  him  who  was  so  manly : 

"So  you  are  going  out  again,  me- 
vrouw?" 

She  thought — she  had  indeed  thought 
so  before — that  his  questions  were  some- 
times questions  which  people  do  not  ask. 
This  was  one  of  the  strange  things  about 
him. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  simply,  not  knowing 
what  else  to  say. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  seeing  that  his 


ECSTASY  89 

words  had  embarrassed  her  a  little.  "I 
asked,  because  .  .  ." 

"Because^"  she  echoed,  with  wide-open 
eyes. 

He  took  courage  and  explained: 

"When  Dolf  spoke  of  you,  he  used  al- 
ways to  say  that  you  lived  so  quietly.  .  .  . 
And  I  could  never  picture  you  to  myself 
returning  to  society,  mixing  with  many 
people ;  I  had  formed  an  idea  of  you ;  and 
it  now  seems  that  this  idea  was  a  mistaken 
one. 

"An  idea?"  she  asked.     "What  idea?" 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  angry  when  I  tell 
you.  Perhaps,  even  as  it  is,  you  are  none 
too  well  pleased  with  me  I"  he  replied, 
jestingly. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  reason  to  be 
either  pleased  or  displeased  with  you,"  she 
jested  in  return.  "But  tell  me,  what  was 
your  idea?" 

"Then  you  are  interested  in  it?" 


90  ECSTASY 

"If  you  will  answer  candidly,  yes.  But 
you  must  be  candid!"  and  she  threatened 
him  with  her  finger. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "I  thought  of  you  as 
a  very  cultured  woman,  as  a  very  interest- 
ing woman — I  still  think  all  that — aitd 
...  as  a  woman  who  cared  nothing  for 
the  world  beyond  her  own  sphere;  and 
this  .  .  .  this  I  can  no  longer  think. 
And  I  feel  almost  inclined  to  say,  at  the 
risk  of  your  looking  on  me  as  very  strange, 
that  I  am  sorry  no  longer  to  be  able  to 
think  of  you  in  that  way.  I  would  almost 
rather  not  have  met  you  here.  .  .  ." 

He  laughed,  to  soften  what  might  sound 
strange  in  his  words.  She  looked  at  him, 
her  eyelashes  flickering  with  amazement, 
her  lips  half-opened;  and  suddenly  it 
struck  her  that  she  was  looking  into  his 
eyes  for  the  first  time.  She  looked  into 
his  eyes  and  saw  that  they  were  a  dark, 
very  dark  grey  around  the  black  depth  of 


ECSTASY  91 

the  pupil.  There  was  something  in  his 
eyes,  she  could  not  say  what,  but  some- 
thing magnetic,  as  though  she  could  never 
again  take  away  her  own  from  them. 

"How  strange  you  can  be  sometimes  I" 
she  said  mechanically :  the  words  came  in- 
tuitively. 

"Oh,  please  don't  be  angry!"  he  almost 
implored  her.  "I  was  so  glad  when  you 
spoke  kindly  to  me.  You  were  a  little 
distant  to  me  when  I  saw  you  last;  and  I 
should  be  so  sorry  if  I  put  you  out.  Per- 
haps I  am  strange,  but  how  could  I  possi- 
bly be  commonplace  with  you?  How 
could  I  possibly,  even  if  you  were  to  take 
offence?  .  .  .  Have  you  taken  offence?" 

"I  ought  to,  but  I  suppose  I  must  for- 
give you,  if  only  for  your  candour!"  she 
said,  laughing.  "Otherwise  your  remarks 
were  anything  but  gallant." 

"And  yet  I  did  not  mean  it  ungal- 
lantly." 


92  ECSTASY 

"Oh,  no  doubt!"  she  jested. 

She  remembered  that  she  was  at  a  big 
dinner-party.  The  guests  ranged  before 
and  around  her;  the  footmen  waiting  be- 
hind; the  light  of  the  candles  gleaming  on 
the  silver  and  touching  the  glass  with  all 
the  hues  of  the  rainbow ;  on  the  table  prone 
mirrors,  like  sheets  of  water  surrounded 
by  flowers,  little  lakes  amidst  moss-roses 
and  lilies  of  the  valley.  She  sat  silent  a 
moment,  still  smiling,  looking  at  her  hand, 
a  pretty  hand,  like  a  white  precious  thing 
upon  the  tulle  of  her  gown :  one  of  the 
fingers  bore  several  rings,  scintillating 
sparks  of  blue  and  white. 

The  general  turned  to  her  again;  they 
exchanged  a  few  words;  the  general  was 
delighted  that  Mrs.  van  Even's  right-hand 
neighbour  was  keeping  her  entertained 
and  enabling  him  to  get  on  quietly  with  his 
dinner.  Quaerts  turned  to  the  lady  on  his 
right. 


ECSTASY  93 

Both  of  them  were  glad  when  they 
were  able  to  resume  their  conversa- 
tion: 

"What  were  we  talking  about  just 
now'?"  she  asked. 

"I  know!"  he  replied,  mischievously. 

"The  general  interrupted  us." 

"You  were  not  angry  with  me  I"  he 
jested. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  she  replied,  laughing 
softly,  "it  was  about  your  idea  of  me,  was 
it  not?  Why  could  you  no  longer  picture 
me  returning  to  society?" 

"I  thought  that  you  had  become  a  per- 
son apart." 

"But  why?" 

"From  what  Dolf  said,  from  what  I  my- 
self thought,  when  I  saw  you." 

"And  why  are  you  now  sorry  that  I  am 
not  'a  person  apart,'  as  you  call  it?"  she 
asked,  still  laughing. 

"From  vanity;  because  I  made  a  mis- 


94  ECSTASY 

take.  And  yet  perhaps  I  have  not  made 
a  mistake.  .  .  ." 

They  looked  at  each  other;  and  both  of 
them,  although  each  thought  it  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  now  thought  the  same  thing, 
namely,  that  they  must  be  careful  with 
their  words,  because  they  were  speaking 
of  something  very  delicate  and  tender, 
something  as  frail  as  a  soap-bubble,  which 
could  easily  break  if  they  spoke  of  it  too 
loudly;  the  mere  breath  of  their  words 
might  be  sufficient.  Yet  she  ventured  to 
ask: 

"And  why  ...  do  you  believe  .  .  . 
that  perhaps  .  .  .  you  are  not  mis- 
taken?' 

"I  don't  quite  know.  Perhaps  because 
I  wish  it  so.  Perhaps,  too,  because  it  is 
so  true  as  to  leave  no  room  for  doubt.  Oh, 
yes,  I  am  almost  sure  that  I  judged  rightly  I 
Do  you  know  why?  Because  otherwise  I 
should  have  hidden  myself  and  been  com- 


ECSTASY  95 

monplace;  and  I  find  this  impossible  with 
3-0U.  I  have  given  you  more  of  myself 
in  this  short  moment  than  I  have  given 
people  whom  I  have  known  for  years  in 
the  course  of  all  those  years.  Therefore 
surely  you  must  be  a  person  apart." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'a  person 
apart  c 

He  smiled,  he  opened  his  eyes;  she 
looked  into  them  again,  deeply. 

"You  understand,  surely!"  he  said. 

Fear  for  the  delicate  thing  that  might 
break  came  between  them  again.  They 
understood  each  other  as  with  a  freema- 
sonry of  feeling.  Her  eyes  were  mag- 
netically held  upon  his. 

"You  are  very  strange!"  she  again  said, 
automatically. 

"No,"  he  said,  calmly,  shaking  his  head, 
with  his  eyes  in  hers.  "I  am  certain  that 
I  am  not  strange  to  you,  even  though  you 
may  think  so  for  the  moment." 


96  ECSTASY 

She  was  silent. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  be  able  to  talk  to  you 
like  this  I"  he  whispered.  "It  makes  me 
very  happy.  And  see,  no  one  knows  any- 
thing of  it.  We  are  at  a  big  dinner;  the 
people  next  to  us  can  even  catch  our 
words;  and  yet  there  is  not  one  among 
them  who  understands  us  or  grasps  the 
subject  of  our  conversation.  Do  you 
know  the  reason'?" 

"No,"  she  murmured. 

"I  will  tell  you;  at  least,  I  think  it  is 
like  this.  Perhaps  you  know  better,  for 
you  must  know  things  better  than  I,  you 
are  so  much  subtler.  I  personally  believe 
that  each  person  has  a  circle  about  him,  an 
atmosphere,  and  that  he  meets  other  peo- 
ple who  have  circles  or  atmospheres  about 
them,  sympathetic  or  antipathetic  to  his 
own." 

"This  is  pure  mysticism  I"  she  said. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "it  is  quite  simple. 


ECSTASY  97 

When  the  two  circles  are  antipathetic, 
each  repels  the  other;  but,  when  they  are 
sympathetic,  they  glide  and  overlap  in 
smaller  or  larger  curves  of  sympathy.  In 
some  cases  the  circles  almost  coincide,  but 
they  always  remain  separate.  .  .  .  Do 
you  really  think  this  so  very  mystical?" 

"One  might  call  it  the  mysticism  of  sen- 
timent. But  ...  I  have  thought  some- 
thing of  the  sort  myself.  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  understand  that,"  he 
continued,  calmly,  as  if  he  expected  it. 
"I  believe  that  those  around  us  would  not 
be  able  to  understand  us,  because  we  two 
alone  have  sympathetic  circles.  But  my 
atmosphere  is  of  a  much  grosser  texture 
than  yours,  which  is  very  delicate." 

She  was  silent  again,  remembering  her 
former  aversion  to  him:  did  she  still  feel 
it? 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  theory?" 
he  asked. 


98  ECSTASY 

She  looked  up;  her  white  fingers  trem- 
bled in  the  tulle  of  her  gown.  She  made 
a  poor  effort  to  smile : 

"I  think  you  go  too  far  I"  she  stam- 
mered. 

"You  think  I  rush  into  hyperbole'?" 

She  would  have  liked  to  say  yes,  but 
could  not: 

"No,"  she  said;  "not  that." 

"Do  I  bore  you^  .  .  ." 

She  looked  at  him,  looked  deep  into  his 
eyes.  She  shook  her  head,  by  way  of  say- 
ing no.  She  would  have  liked  to  say  that 
he  was  too  unconventional  just  now;  but 
she  could  not  find  the  words.  A  f aintness 
oppressed  her  whole  being.  The  table, 
the  people,  the  whole  dinner-party  ap- 
peared to  her  as  through  a  haze  of  light. 
When  she  recovered  herself  again,  she  per- 
ceived that  a  pretty  woman  opposite  had 
been  staring  at  her  and  was  now  looking 
away,    out   of   politeness.     She    did   not 


ECSTASY  99 

know  how  or  why  this  interested  her,  but 
she  asked  Quaerts : 

"Who  is  the  lady  over  there,  in  pale 
blue,  with  the  dark  hair?" 

She  saw  that  he  started. 

"That  is  young  Mrs.  Hijdrecht!"  he 
said,  calmly,  a  little  distantly. 

She  too  was  perturbed ;  she  turned  pale ; 
her  fan  flapped  nervously  to  and  fro  in  her 
fingers. 

He  had  named  the  woman  whom  ru- 
mour said  to  be  his  mistress. 

3 

It  seemed  to  Cecile  as  though  that 
delicate,  frail  thing,  that  soap-bubble,  had 
burst.  She  wondered  if  he  had  spoken  to 
that  dark-haired  woman  also  of  circles  of 
sympathy.  So  soon  as  she  was  able, 
Cecile  observed  Mrs.  Hijdrecht.  She  had 
a  warm,  dull-gold  complexion,  dark, 
glowing  eyes,  a  mouth  as  of  fresh  blood. 


100  ECSTASY 

Her  dress  was  cut  very  low;  her  throat 
and  the  slope  of  her  breast  showed  inso- 
lently handsome,  brutally  luscious.  A 
row  of  diamonds  encompassed  her  neck 
with  a  narrow  line  of  white  flame. 

Cecile  felt  ill  at  ease.  She  felt  as  if 
she  were  playing  with  iire.  She  looked 
away  from  the  young  woman  and  turned 
to  Quaerts,  in  obedience  to  some  magnetic 
force.  She  saw  a  cloud  of  melancholy 
stealing  over  the  upper  half  of  his  face, 
over  his  forehead  and  his  eyes,  which  be- 
trayed a  slight  look  of  age.  And  she 
heard  him  say : 

"Now  what  do  you  care  about  that 
lady's  name'?  We  were  just  in  the 
middle  of  such  a  charming  conversa- 
tion.  .  .   . 

She  too  felt  sad  now,  sad  because  of  the 
soap-bubble  that  had  burst.  She  did  not 
know  why,  but  she  felt  pity  for  him,  a 
sudden,  deep,  intense  pity. 


ECSTASY  101 

"We  can  resume  our  conversation,"  she 
said,  softly. 

"Ah  no,  don't  let  us  take  it  up  where  we 
left  it!"  he  rejoined,  with  feigned  airiness. 
"I  was  becoming  tedious." 

He  spoke  of  other  things.  She  an- 
swered little;  and  their  conversation  lan- 
guished. They  each  occupied  themselves 
with  their  neighbours.  The  dinner  came 
to  an  end.  Mrs.  Hoze  rose,  took  the  arm 
of  the  gentleman  beside  her.  The  general 
escorted  Cecile  to  the  drawing-room,  in  the 
slow  procession  of  the  others. 

4 

The  ladies  remained  alone;  the  men 
went  to  the  smoking-room  with  young 
Hoze.  Cecile  saw  Mrs.  Hoze  come  to- 
wards her.  She  asked  her  if  she  had  not 
been  bored  at  dinner;  they  sat  down  to- 
gether, in  a  confidential  tete-a-tete. 

Cecile, made  the  necessary  effort  to  re- 


102  ECSTASY 

ply  to  Mrs.  Hoze;  but  she  would  have 
liked  to  go  somewhere  and  weep  quietly, 
because  everything  passed  so  quickly,  be- 
cause the  speck  of  the  present  was  so  small. 
Gone  was  the  sweet  charm  of  their  con- 
versation during  dinner  about  sympathy, 
a  fragile  intimacy  amid  the  worldly  show 
about  them.  Gone  was  that  moment, 
never,  never  to  return :  life  sped  over  it 
with  its  constant  flow,  as  with  a  torrent  of 
all-obliterating  water.  Oh,  the*  sorrow 
of  it,  to  think  how  quickly,  like  an  intan- 
gible perfume,  everything  speeds  away, 
everything  that  is  dear  to  us !   .  .  . 

Mrs.  Hoze  left  her;  Suzette  van  Attema 
came  to  talk  to  Cecile.  She  was  dressed 
in  pink;  and  she  glittered  in  all  her  aspect 
as  if  gold-dust  had  poured  all  over  her, 
upon  her  movements,  her  eyes,  her  words. 
She  spoke  volubly  to  Cecile,  telling  in- 
terminable tales,  to  which  Cecile  did  not 
always    listen.     Suddenly,    through    Su- 


ECSTASY  103 

zette's  prattle,  Cecile  heard  the  voices  of 
two  women  whispering  behind  her;  she 
only  caught  a  word  here  and  there : 

"Emilie  Hijdrecht,  you  know.  .  .  ." 

"Only  gossip,  I  think;  Mrs.  Hoze  does 
not  seem  to  heed  it.  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  but  I  know  it  as  a  fact!" 

The  voices  were  lost  in  the  hum  of  the 
others.  Cecile  just  caught  a  sound  like 
Quaerts'  name.  Then  Suzette  asked, 
suddenly : 

"Do  you  know  young  Mrs.  Hijdrecht, 
Auntie?" 

"No." 

"Over  there,  with  the  diamonds.  You 
know,  they  talk  about  her  and  Ouaerts. 
Mamma  doesn't  believe  it.  At  any  rate, 
he's  a  great  flirt.  You  sat  next  to  him, 
didn't  you?" 

Cecile  suffered  severely  in  her  inner- 
most sensitiveness.  She  shrank  into  her- 
self entirely,  doing  all  that  she  could  to 


104  ECSTASY 

appear  different  from  what  she  was.  Su- 
zette  saw  nothing  of  her  discomfiture. 

The  men  returned.  Cecile  looked  to 
see  whether  Quaerts  would  speak  to  Mrs. 
Hijdrecht.  But  he  wholly  ignored  her 
presence  and  even,  when  he  saw  Suzette 
sitting  with  Cecile,  came  over  to  them  to 
pay  a  compliment  to  Suzette,  to  whom  he 
had  not  yet  spoken. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Cecile  when  she  was 
able  to  go.  She  was  yearning  to  be  alone, 
to  recover  herself,  to  return  from  her  ab- 
straction. In  her  brougham  she  scarcely 
dared  breathe,  fearful  of  something,  she 
could  not  say  what.  When  she  reached 
home  she  felt  a  stifling  heaviness  which 
seemed  to  paralyse  her;  and  she  dragged 
herself  languidly  up  the  stairs  to  her  dress- 
ing-room. 

And  yet,  on  the  stairs,  there  fell  over 
her,  as  from  the  roof  of  her  house,  a  haze 
of  protecting  safety.     Slowly  she   went 


ECSTASY  105 

up,  her  hand,  holding  a  long  glove,  press- 
ing the  velvet  banister  of  .the  stairway. 
She  felt  as  if  she  were  about  to  swoon : 

"But,  Heaven  help  me  ...  I  am  fond 
of  him,  I  love  him,  I  love  him  I"  she  whis- 
pered between  her  trembling  lips,  in  sud- 
den amazement. 

It  was  as  in  a  rhythm  of  astonishment 
that  she  wearily  mounted  the  stairs, 
higher  and  higher,  in  a  silent  surprise  of 
sudden  light. 

"But  I  am  fond  of  him,  I  love  him,  I 
love  him  I" 

It  sounded  like  a  melody  through  her 
weariness. 

She  reached  her  dressing-room,  where 
Greta  had  lighted  the  gas;  she  dragged 
herself  inside.  The  door  of  the  nursery 
stood  half  open;  she  went  in,  threw  back 
the  curtain  of  Christie's  little  bed,  dropped 
on  her  knees  and  looked  at  the  child.  The 
boy  partly  awoke,  still  in  the  warmth  of  a 


io6  ECSTASY 

deep  sleep;  he  crept  a  little  from  between 
the  sheets,  laughed,  threw  his  arms  about 
Cecile's  bare  neck: 

"Mummy  dear  I" 

She  pressed  him  tightly  in  the  embrace 
of  her  slender,  white  arms;  she  kissed  his 
raspberry  mouth,  his  drowsed  eyes.  And 
meantime  the  refrain  sang  on  in  her  heart, 
right  across  the  weariness  which  seemed 
to  break  her  by  the  bedside  of  her  child : 

"But  I  am  fond  of  him,  I  love  him,  I  love 
him,  I  love  him  .  .  .1" 

5 

The  mystery  I  Suddenly,  on  the  stair- 
case, it  had  beamed  open  before  her  in  her 
soul,  like  a  great  flower  of  light,  a  mystic 
rose  with  glistening  petals,  into  whose 
golden  heart  she  now  looked  for  the  first 
time.  The  analysis  to  which  she  was  so 
much  inclined  was  no  longer  possible :  this 
was  the  riddle  of  love,  the  eternal  riddle. 


ECSTASY  107 

which  had  beamed  open  within  her,  trans- 
fixing with  its  rays  the  very  width  of  her 
soul,  in  the  midst  of  which  it  had  burst 
forth  like  a  sun  in  a  universe;  it  was  too 
late  to  ask  the  reason  why;  it  was  too  late 
to  ponder  and  dream  upon  it;  it  could  only 
be  accepted  as  the  inexplicable  phenome- 
non of  the  soul ;  it  was  a  creation  of  senti- 
ment, of  which  the  god  who  created  it 
would  be  as  impossible  to  find  in  the  inner 
essence  of  his  reality  as  the  God  who  had 
created  the  world  out  of  chaos.  It  was 
light  breaking  forth  from  darkness;  it  was 
heaven  disclosed  above  the  earth.  And  it 
existed :  it  was  reality  and  not  a  fairy-tale  I 
For  it  was  wholly  and  entirely  within  her, 
a  sudden,  incontestable,  everlasting  truth, 
a  felt  fact,  so  real  in  its  ethereal  incor- 
poreity  that  it  seemed  to  her  as  if,  until 
that  moment,  she  had  never  known,  never 
thought,  never  felt.  It  was  the  begin- 
ning, the  opening  out  of  herself,  the  dawn 


io8  ECSTASY 

of  her  soul's  life,  the  joyful  miracle,  the 
miraculous  inception  of  love,  love  fo- 
cussed  in  the  midst  of  her  soul. 

She  passed  the  following  days  in  self- 
contemplation,  wandering  through  her 
dreams  as  through  a  new  country,  rich  with 
great  light,  where  distant  landscapes  paled 
into  a  wan  radiance,  like  fantastic  meteors 
in  the  night,  quivering  in  incandescence  on 
the  horizon.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though 
she,  a  pious  and  glad  pilgrim,  were  making 
her  way  along  paradisaical  oases  towards 
those  distant  scenes,  there  to  find  even 
more,  the  goal.  .  .  .  Only  a  little  while 
ago,  the  prospect  before  her  had  been  nar- 
row and  forlorn — her  children  gone  from 
her,  her  loneliness  wrapping  her  about  like 
a  night — and  now,  now  she  saw  stretching 
in  front  of  her  a  long  road,  a  wide  horizon, 
glittering  with  light,  nothing  but  light. .  . . 

That  was^  all  that  was!  It  was  no  fine 
poets'  fancy;  it  existed,  it  gleamed  in  her 


ECSTASY  IOC) 

heart  like  a  sacred  jewel,  like  a  mystic  rose 
with  stamina  of  light  I  A  freshness  as  of 
dew  fell  over  her,  over  her  whole  life :  over 
the  life  of  her  senses;  over  the  life  of  out- 
ward appearances;  over  the  life  of  her 
soul;  over  the  life  of  the  indwelling  truth. 
The  world  was  new,  fresh  with  young  dew, 
the  very  Eden  of  Genesis;  and  her  soul 
was  a  soul  of  newness,  born  anew  in  a 
metempsychosis  of  greater  perfection,  of 
closer  approach  to  the  goal,  that  distant 
goal,  far  away  yonder,  hidden  like  a  god 
in  the  sanctuary  of  its  ecstasy  of  light,  as 
in  the  radiance  of  its  own  being. 


CHAPTER  VII 


CECILE  did  not  go  out  for  a  few 
days;    she    saw    nobody.     One 
morning  she  received  a  note;  it 
ran: 

"Mevrouw, 

"I  do  not  know  if  you  were  offended 
by  my  mystical  utterances.  I  cannot  re- 
call distinctly  what  I  said,  but  I  remember 
that  you  told  me  that  I  was  going  too  far. 
I  trust  that  you  did  not  take  my  indiscret- 
ion amiss. 

"It  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to 
come  to  see  you.  May  I  hope  that  you 
will  permit  me  to  call  on  you  this  after- 
noon'? 

"With  most  respectful  regards, 

"QUAERTS." 
no 


ECSTASY  111 

As  the  bearer  was  waiting  for  a  reply, 
she  wrote  back  in  answer: 

"Dear  Sir, 

"I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  see  you 
this  afternoon. 

"Cecile  van  Even." 

When  she  was  alone,  she  read  his  note 
over  and  over  again;  she  looked  at  the 
paper  with  a  smile,  looked  at  the  hand- 
writing: 

"How  strange,"  she  thought.  "This 
note  .  .  .  and  everything  that  happens. 
How  strange  everything  is,  everything, 
everything!" 

She  remained  dreaming  a  long  time, 
with  the  note  in  her  hand.  Then  she  care- 
fully folded  it  up,  rose,  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  sought  with  her  dainty  fin- 
gers in  a  bowl  full  of  visiting-cards,  taking 
out  two  which  she  looked  at  for  some  time. 


112  ECSTASY 

"Quaerts."  The  name  sounded  differ- 
ently from  before.  .  .  .  How  strange  it 
all  was!  Finally  she  locked  away  the 
note  and  the  two  cards  in  a  little  empty 
drawer  of  her  writing-table. 

She  stayed  at  home  and  sent  the  child- 
ren out  with  the  nurse.  She  hoped  that 
no  one  else  would  call,  neither  Mrs.  Hoze 
nor  the  Van  Attemas.  And,  staring  be- 
fore her,  she  reflected  for  a  long,  long 
while.  There  was  so  much  that  she  did 
not  understand:  properly  speaking,  she 
understood  nothing.  So  far  as  she  was 
concerned,  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him : 
there  was  no  analysing  that;  it  must  sim- 
ply be  accepted.  But  he,  what  did  he  feel, 
what  were  his  emotions? 

Her  earlier  aversion?  Sport:  he  was 
fond  of  sport  she  remembered.  .  .  .  His 
visit,  which  was  an  impertinence:  he 
seemed  now  to  be  wishing  to  atone  for  it, 
not  to  repeat  his  call  without  her  permiss- 


ECSTASY  113 

ion.  .  .  .  His  mystical  conversation  at 
the  dinner-party.  .  .  .  And  Mrs.  Hij- 
drecht.  .  .  . 

"How  strange  he  is!"  she  reflected.  "I 
do  not  understand  him;  but  I  love  him,  I 
cannot  help  it.  Love,  love:  how  strange 
that  it  should  exist !  I  never  realized  that 
it  existed!  I  am  no  longer  myself;  I  am 
becoming  some  one  else !  .  .  .  What  does 
he  want  to  see  me  for?  .  .  .  And  how  sin- 
gular: I  have  been  married,  I  have  two 
children!  How  singular  that  I  should 
have  two  children!  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
none.  And  yet  I  am  so  fond  of  my  little 
boys !  But  the  other  thing  is  so  beautiful, 
so  bright,  so  transparent,  as  if  that  alone 
were  truth.  Perhaps  love  is  the  only 
truth.  ...  It  is  as  if  everything  in  and 
about  me  were  turning  to  crystal!" 

She  looked  around  her,  surprised  and 
troubled  that  her  surroundings  should 
have  remained  the  same :  the  rosewood  fur- 


114  ECSTASY 

niture,  the  folds  of  the  curtains,  the  with- 
ered landscape  of  the  Scheveningen  Road 
outside.  But  it  was  snowing,  silently  and 
softly,  with  great  snow-flakes  falling 
heavily,  as  though  they  meant  to  purify 
the  world.  The  snow  was  fresh  and  new, 
but  yet  the  snow  was  not  real  nature  to 
her,  who  always  saw  her  distant  landscape, 
like  a  fata  morgana,  quivering  in  pure  in- 
candescence of  light. 

2 

He  came  at  four  o'clock.  She  saw  him 
for  the  first  time  since  the  self-revelation 
which  had  flashed  upon  her  astounded 
senses.  And  when  he  came  she  felt  the 
singularly  rapturous  feeling  that  in  her 
eyes  he  was  a  demigod,  that  he  perfected 
himself  in  her  imagination,  that  every- 
thing in  him  was  good.  Now  that  he  sat 
there  before  her,  she  saw  him  for  the  first 
time  and  she  saw  that  he  was  physically 


ECSTASY  115 

beautiful.  The  strength  of  his  body  was 
exalted  into  the  strength  of  a  young  god, 
broad  and  yet  slender,  sinewed  as  with  the 
marble  sinews  of  a  statue;  and  all  this 
seemed  so  strange  beneath  the  modernity 
of  his  morning  coat. 

She  saw  his  face  completely  for  the  first 
time.  The  cut  of  it  was  Roman,  the  head 
that  of  a  Roman  emperor,  with  its  sensual 
profile,  its  small,  full  mouth,  living  red 
under  the  brown  gold  of  his  curly  mous- 
tache. The  forehead  was  low,  the  hair 
cut  very  close,  like  an  enveloping  black 
casque;  and  over  that  forehead,  with  its 
single  furrow,  hovered  sadness,  like  a  mist 
of  age,  strangely  contradicting  the  wanton 
youthfulness  of  his  mouth  and  chin.  And 
then  his  eyes,  which  she  already  knew,  his 
eyes  of  mystery,  small  and  deep-set,  with 
the  depth  of  their  pupils,  which  seemed 
now  to  veil  themselves  and  then  again  to 
look  out. 


ii6  ECSTASY 

But  the  strangest  thing  was  that  from 
all  his  beauty,  from  all  his  being,  from  all 
his  attitude,  as  he  sat  there  with  his  hands 
folded  between  his  knees,  a  magnetism 
emanated,  dominating  her,  drawing  her  ir- 
resistibly towards  him,  as  though  she  had 
suddenly,  from  the  first  moment  of  her 
self-revelation,  become  kis\  to  serve  him 
in  all  things.  She  felt  this  magnetism  at- 
tracting her  so  violently  that  every  power 
in  her  melted  into  listlessness  and  weak- 
ness. A  weakness  as  if  he  might  take  her 
and  carry  her  away,  anywhere,  wherever 
he  pleased;  a  weakness  as  if  she  no  longer 
possessed  her  own  thoughts,  as  if  she  had 
become  nothing,  apart  from  him^. 

She  felt  this  intensely;  and  then,  then 
came  the  very  strangest  thing  of  all,  as  he 
continued  to  sit  there,  at  a  respectful  di- 
stance, his  eyes  looking  up  to  her  in  reve- 
rence, his  voice  falling  in  reverential  ac- 
cents.    This  was  the  very  strangest  thing 


ECSTASY  117 

of  all  that  she  saw  him  beneath  her,  while 
she  felt  him  above  her;  that  she  wished  to 
be  his  inferior  and  that  he  seemed  to  con- 
sider her  higher  than  himself.  She  did 
not  know  how  she  suddenh^  came  to  realize 
this  so  intensely,  but  she  did  realize  it;  and 
it  was  the  first  pain  that  her  love  gave 
her. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  not  to  be  angry 
with  me,"  he  began. 

There  was  often  something  caressing  in 
his  voice;  it  was  not  clear  and  was  even 
now  and  then  a  little  broken,  but  this  just 
gave  it  a  certain  charm  of  quality. 

"Why'?"  she  asked. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  did  wrong  to  pay 
you  that  visit.  In  the  second  place,  I  was 
ill-mannered  at  Mrs.  Hoze's  dinner." 

"A  whole  catalogue  of  sins  I"  she 
laughed. 

"Surely  I"  he  continued.  "And  you 
are  very  good  to  bear  me  no  malice." 


ii8  ECSTASY 

"Perhaps  that  is  because  I  always  hear 
so  much  good  about  you  at  Dolf's." 

"Have  you  never  noticed  anything  odd 
in  Dolf  ?"  he  asked. 

"No.     What  do  you  mean?" 

"Has  it  never  struck  you  that  he  has 
more  of  an  eye  for  the  great  aggregate  of 
political  problems  as  a  whole  than  for  the 
details  of  his  own  surroundings'?" 

She  looked  at  him,  with  a  smile  of  sur- 
prise : 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "You  are  quite  right. 
You  know  him  well." 

"Oh,  we  have  known  one  another  from 
boyhood  I  It  is  curious:  he  never  sees  the 
things  that  lie  close  to  his  hand;  he  does 
not  penetrate  them.  He  is  intellectually 
far-sighted." 

"Yes,"  she  assented. 

"He  does  not  know  his  wife,  nor  his 
daughters,  nor  Jules.  He  does  not  see 
what  they  have  in  them.     He  identifies 


ECSTASY  119 

each  of  them  by  means  of  an  image  which 
he  fixes  in  his  mind;  and  he  forms  these 
images  out  of  two  prominent  character- 
istics, which  are  generally  a  little  op- 
posed. Mrs.  van  Attema  appears  to  him 
a  woman  with  a  heart  of  gold,  but  not 
very  practical:  so  much  for  her;  Jules, 
a  musical  genius,  but  an  untractable  boy: 
that  settles  liitnr 

"Yes,  he  does  not  go  very  deeply  into 
character,"  she  said.  "For  there  is  a 
great  deal  more  in  Amelie  .   .  ." 

"And  he  is  quite  wrong  about  Jules," 
said  Quaerts.  "Jules  is  thoroughly  tract- 
able and  anything  but  a  genius.  Jules 
is  nothing  more  than  an  exceedingly  re- 
ceptive boy,  with  a  little  rudimentary  ta- 
lent.    And  you  ...  he  misconceives  you 


too: 


"Me?' 

"Entirely  I     Do    you    know    what    he 
thinks  of  you?" 


120  ECSTASY 

"No." 

"He  thinks  you — let  me  begin  by  tell- 
ing you  this — very,  very  lovable  and  a 
dear  little  mother  to  your  boys.  But  he 
thinks  also  that  you  are  incapable  of  grow- 
ing very  fond  of  any  one;  he  looks  upon 
you  as  a  woman  without  passion  and  me- 
lancholy for  no  reason,  except  that  you  are 
bored.     He  thinks  you  bore  yourself!" 

She  looked  at  him  in  utter  dismay  and 
saw  him  laughing  mischievously. 

"I  am  never  bored!"  she  said,  joining  in 
his  laughter,  with  full  conviction. 

"No,  of  course  you're  not!"  he  replied. 

"How  can  you  know?"  she  asked. 

"I  feel  it!"  he  answered.  "And,  what 
is  more,  I  know  that  the  basis  of  your  char- 
acter is  not  melancholy,  not  dark,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  very  light." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that  myself,"  she 
scarcely  murmured,  slackly,  with  that 
weakness  within  her,  but  happy  that  he 


ECSTASY  121 

should  estimate  her  so  exactly.  "And  do 
you  too,"  she  continued,  airily,  "think  me 
incapable  of  loving  any  one  very  much'?" 

"Now  that  is  a  matter  of  which  I  am 
not  competent  to  judge,"  he  said,  with 
such  frankness  that  his  whole  countenance 
suddenly  grew  younger  and  the  crease  dis- 
appeared from  his  forehead.  "How  can 
/teir?" 

"You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about 
me  otherwise,"  she  laughed. 

"I  have  seen  you  so  often." 

"Barely  four  times!" 

"That  is  very  often." 

She  laughed  brightly: 

"Is  this  a  compliment?" 

"It  is  meant  for  one,"  he  replied. 
"You  do  not  know  how  much  it  means  to 
me  to  see  you." 

It  meant  much  to  him  to  see  her  I  And 
she  felt  herself  so  small,  so  weak;  and  him 
so  great,  so  perfect.     With  what  decision 


122  ECSTASY 

he  spoke,  how  certain  he  seemed  of  it  all  I 
It  almost  saddened  her  that  it  meant  so 
much  to  him  to  see  her  once  in  a  while. 
He  placed  her  too  high;  she  did  not  wish 
to  be  placed  so  high. 

And  that  delicate,  fragile  something 
hung  between  them  again,  as  it  had  hung 
between  them  at  the  dinner.  Then  it  had 
been  broken  by  one  ill-chosen  word.  Oh, 
that  it  might  not  be  broken  now  I 

"And  now  let  us  talk  about  yourself!" 
she  said,  affecting  an  airy  vivacity.  "Do 
you  know  that  you  are  taking  all  sorts  of 
pains  to  fathom  me  and  that  I  know  no- 
thing whatever  about  you'?  That's  not 
fair." 

"If  you  knew  how  much  I  have  given 
you  already!  I  give  myself  to  you  en- 
tirely; from  others  I  always  conceal  my- 
self." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  am  afraid  of  the  others!" 


ECSTASY  123 

"You  .  .  .  afraid?' 

"Yes.  You  think  that  I  do  not  look  as 
if  I  could  feel  afraid"?  I  have  some- 
thing .  .  ." 

He  hesitated. 

"Well?' she  asked. 

"I  have  something  that  is  very  dear  to 
me  and  about  which  I  am  very  much 
afraid  lest  any  should  touch  it." 

"And  that  is  .  .  .?" 

"My  soul.  I  am  not  afraid  of  your 
touching  it,  for  you  would  not  hurt  it. 
On  the  contrary,  I  know  that  it  is  very 
safe  with  you." 

She  would  have  liked  once  more,  me- 
chanically, to  reproach  him  with  his 
strangeness:  she  could  not.  But  he 
guessed  her  thoughts: 

"You  think  me  a  very  odd  person,  do 
you  not*?  But  how  can  I  be  otherwise 
with  you*?" 

She  felt  her  love  expanding  within  her 


124  ECSTASY 

heart,  widening  it  to  its  full  capacity 
within  her.  Her  love  was  as  a  domain 
in  which  he  wandered. 

"I  do  not  understand  you  yet;  I  do  not 
know  you  yet  I"  she  said,  softly.  "I  do 
not  see  you  yet.  .  .   ." 

"Would  you  be  in  any  way  interested  to 
know  me,  to  see  me?" 

"Surely." 

"Let  me  tell  you  then;  I  should  like  to 
do  so;  it  would  be  a  great  joy  to  me/' 

"I  am  listening  to  you  most  atten- 
tively." 

"One  question  first:  you  cannot  endure 
people  who  go  in  for  sport?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  like  to  see  the  dis- 
play and  development  of  strength,  so  long 
as  it  is  not  too  near  me.  Just  as  I  like  to 
hear  a  storm,  when  I  am  safely  within 
doors.  And  I  can  even  find  pleasure  in 
watching  acrobats." 


ECSTASY  12^ 

He  laughed  quietly: 

"Nevertheless  you  held  my  particular 
predilection  in  great  aversion'?" 

"Why  should  you  think  that'?" 

"I  felt  it." 

"You  feel  everything,"  she  said,  almost 
in  alarm.  "You  are  a  dangerous  per- 
son. 

"So  many  think  that.  Shall  I  tell  you 
why  I  believe  that  you  took  a  special  aver- 
sion in  my  case'?" 

"Yes." 

"Because  you  did  not  understand  it  in 
me,  even  though  you  may  have  observed 
that  physical  exercise  is  one  of  my  hob- 
bies." 

"I  do  not  understand  you  at  all." 

"I  think  you  are  right.  .  .  .  But  don't 
let  me  talk  about  myself  like  this :  I  would 
rather  talk  of  you." 

"And  I  of  you.     So  be  nice  to  me  for 


126  ECSTASY 

the  first  time  in  our  acquaintance  and 
speak  ...  of  yourself." 

He  bowed,  with  a  smile: 

"You  will  not  think  me  tiresome?" 

"Not  at  all.  You  were  telling  me  of 
yourself.  You  were  speaking  of  your 
love  of  exercise  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  yes  I  .  .  .  Can  you  understand 
that  there  are  in  me  two  distinct  indivi- 
duals'?" 

"Two  distinct  .  .  ." 

"Yes.  My  soul,  which  I  regard  as  my 
real  self;  and  then  .  .  .  there  remains  the 
other." 

"And  what  is  that  other?" 

"Something  ugly,  something  common, 
something  grossly  primitive.  In  one 
word,  the  brute." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  lightly : 

"How  dark  you  paint  yourself.  The 
same  thing  is  more  or  less  true  of  every- 
body." 


ECSTASY  127 

"Yes,  but  it  troubles  me  more  than  I  can 
tell  you.  I  suffer;  that  brute  within  me 
hurts  my  soul,  hurts  it  even  more  than 
the  whole  world  hurts  it.  Now  do  you 
know  why  I  feel  such  a  sense  of  security 
when  I  am  with  you'?  It  is  because  I 
do  not  feel  the  brute  that  is  in  me.  .  .  . 
Let  me  go  on  a  little  longer,  let  me  con- 
fess; it  does  me  good  to  tell  you  all  this. 
You  thought  I  had  only  seen  you  four 
times?  But  I  used  to  see  you  so  often 
formerly,  in  the  theatre,  in  the  street, 
everywhere.  It  was  always  rather 
strange  to  me  when  I  saw  you  in  the  midst 
of  accidental  surroundings.  And  always, 
when  I  looked  at  you,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  be- 
ing lifted  to  something  more  beautiful.  I 
cannot  express  myself  more  clearly. 
There  is  something  in  your  face,  in  your 
eyes,  in  your  movements,  I  don't  know 
what,  but  something  better  than  in  other 
people,  something  that  addressed  itself, 


128  ECSTASY 

most  eloquently,  to  my  soul  only.  All 
this  is  so  subtle  and  so  strange;  I  can 
hardly  put  it  more  plainly.  But  you  are 
no  doubt  once  more  thinking  that  I  am 
going  too  far,  are  you  not?  Or  that  I 
am  raving?" 

"Certainly,  I  should  never  have  thought 
you  such  an  idealist,  such  a  sensitivist," 
said  Cecile,  softly. 

"Have  I  leave  to  speak  to  you  like 
this?" 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  to  escape  the 
necessity  of  replying. 

"You  might  perhaps  fear  that  I  should 
compromise  you.   .   .   ." 

"I  do  not  fear  that  for  an  instant!"  she 
replied,  haughtily,  as  in  utter  contempt 
of  the  world. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  That 
delicate,  fragile  thing,  which  might  so 
easily  break,  still  hung  between  them,  thin, 
like  a  gossamer,  lightly  joining  them  to- 


ECSTASY  129 

gether.  An  atmosphere  of  embarrassment 
hovered  about  them.  They  felt  that  the 
words  which  had  passed  between  them 
were  full  of  significance.  Cecile  waited 
for  him  to  continue;  but,  as  he  was  silent, 
she  boldly  took  up  the  conversation : 

"On  the  contrary,  I  value  it  highly  that 
you  have  spoken  to  me  like  this.  You 
are  right:  you  have  indeed  given  me  much 
of  yourself.  I  want  to  assure  you  that 
w^hatever  you  have  given  me  will  be  quite 
safe  with  me.  I  believe  that  I  understand 
you  better  now  that  I  see  you  better." 

"I  want  very  much  to  ask  you  some- 
thing," he  said,  "but  I  dare  not." 

She  smiled,  to  encourage  him. 

"No,  really  I  dare  not,"  he  repeated. 

"Shall  I  guess'?"  Cecile  asked,  jestingly. 

'Yes;  what  do  you  think  it  is'?" 

She  glanced  round  the  room  until  her 
eye  rested  on  the  little  table  covered  with 
books. 


130  ECSTASY 

"The  loan  of  Emerson's  essays'?"  she 
hazarded. 

But  Quaerts  shook  his  head  and 
laughed : 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  said.  "I  bought 
the  volume  long  ago.  No,  no,  it  is  a  much 
greater  favour  than  the  loan  of  a  book." 

"Be  brave  then  and  ask  it,"  Cecile  went 
on,  still  jestingly. 

"I  dare  not,"  he  said  again.  "I  should 
not  know  how  to  put  my  request  into 
words." 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly,  into  his 
eyes,  which  gazed  steadily  upon  her;  and 
then  she  said: 

"I  know  what  you  want  to  ask  me,  but 
I  will  not  say  it.  You  must  do  that:  so 
seek  your  words." 

"If  you  know,  will  you  then  permit  me 
to  say  it?" 

"Yes,  for,  if  it  is  what  I  think,  it  is  no- 
thing that  you  are  not  entitled  to  ask." 


ECSTASY  131 

"And  yet  it  would  be  a  great  favour. 
.  .  .  But  let  me  warn  you  beforehand  that 
I  look  upon  myself  as  some  one  of  a  much 
lower  order  than  you." 

A  shadow  passed  across  her  face,  her 
mouth  had  a  little  contraction  of  pain  and 
she  pressed  him,  a  little  unnerved: 

"I  beg  you,  ask.     Just  ask  me  simply." 

"It  is  a  wish,  then,  that  sympathy 
might  be  sealed  between  you  and  me. 
Would  you  allow  me  to  come  to  you  when 
I  am  unhappy?  I  always  feel  so  happy 
in  your  presence,  so  soothed,  so  different 
from  the  state  of  ordinary  life,  for  with 
you  I  live  only  my  better,  my  real  self: 
you  know  what  I  mean." 

Everything  within  her  again  melted 
into  weakness  and  slackness;  he  was  pla- 
cing her  upon  too  high  a  pedestal ;  she  was 
happy,  because  of  what  he  asked  her,  but 
sad,  that  he  felt  himself  so  much  lower 
than  she. 


132  ECSTASY 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  nevertheless, 
with  a  clear  voice.  "It  shall  be  as  you 
wish.     Let  us  seal  a  bond  of  sympathy." 

And  she  gave  him  her  hand,  her  beauti- 
ful, long,  white  hand,  where  on  one  white 
finger  gleamed  the  sparks  of  jewels,  white 
and  blue.  For  a  second,  very  reverently, 
he  pressed  her  finger-tips  between  his 
own : 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  in  a  hushed  voice, 
a  voice  that  was  a  little  broken. 

"Are  you  often  unhappy?"  asked  Cecile. 

"Always,"  he  replied,  almost  humbly 
and  as  though  embarrassed  at  having 
to  confess  it.  "I  don't  know  why,  but 
it  has  always  been  so.  And  yet  from  my 
childhood  I  have  enjoyed  much  that  peo- 
ple call  happiness.  But  yet,  yet  ...  I 
suffer  through  myself.  It  is  I  who  do  my- 
self the  most  hurt.  And  after  that  the 
world  .  .  .  and  I  have  always  to  hide  my- 
self.    To  the  world,  to  people  generally  I 


ECSTASY  133 

only  show  the  individual  who  rides  and 
fences  and  hunts,  who  goes  into  society  and 
is  very  dangerous  to  young  married 
women  ..." 

He  laughed  with  his  bad,  low  laugh, 
looking  aslant  into  her  eyes;  she  remained 
calmly  gazing  at  him. 

"Beyond  that  I  give  them  nothing.  I 
hate  them;  I  have  nothing  in  common  with 
them,  thank  God  I" 

"You  are  too  proud,"  said  Cecile. 
"Each  of  those  people  has  his  own  sorrow, 
just  as  you  have:  the  one  suffers  a  little 
more  subtly,  the  other  a  little  more 
coarsely;  but  they  all  suifer.  And  in  that 
they  all  resemble  yourself." 

"Each  taken  by  himself,  perhaps.  But 
that  is  not  how  I  take  them:  I  take  them 
in  the  lump  and  therefore  I  hate  them. 
Don't  you?" 

"No,"  she  said  calmly.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve that  I  am  capable  of  hating." 


134  ECSTASY 

"You  are  very  strong  within  yourself. 
You  suffice  unto  yourself." 

"No,  no,  not  that,  really  not;  but  you 
.  .  .  you  are  unjust  towards  the  world." 

"Possibly;  but  why  does  it  always  give 
me  pain?  Alone  with  you,  I  forget  that  it 
exists,  the  outside  world.  Do  you  under- 
stand now  why  I  was  so  sorry  to  see  you 
at  Mrs.  Hoze's?  You  seemed  to  me  to 
have  lowered  yourself.  And  it  was  be- 
cause .  .  .  because  of  that  special  qua- 
lity which  I  saw  in  you  that  I  did  not  seek 
your  acquaintance  earlier.  The  acquaint- 
ance was  fatally  bound  to  come;  and  so  I 
waited.  ..." 

Fate?  What  would  it  bring  her"? 
thought  Cecile.  But  she  could  not  pur- 
sue the  thought:  she  seemed  to  herself  to 
be  dreaming  of  beautiful  and  subtle 
things  which  did  not  exist  for  other  peo- 
ple, which  only  floated  between  them  two. 
And  those  beautiful  things  were  already 


ECSTASY  13  5 

there:  it  was  no  longer  necessary  to  look 
upon  them  as  illusions;  it  was  as  if  she 
had  overtaken  the  future  I  For  one  brief 
moment  only  did  this  happiness  endure; 
then  again  she  felt  pain,  because  of  his 
reverence. 

3 

He  was  gone  and  she  was  alone,  wait- 
ing for  the  children.  She  neglected  to 
ring  for  the  lamp  to  be  lighted;  and  the 
twilight  of  the  late  afternoon  darkened 
into  the  room.  She  sat  motionless,  look- 
ing out  before  her  at  the  leafless  trees. 

"Why  should  /  not  be  happy?"  she 
thought.  "He  is  happy  with  me;  he  is 
himself  with  me  only;  he  cannot  be  so 
among  other  people.  Why  then  can  / 
not  be  happy?" 

She  felt  pain;  her  soul  suffered  and  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  her  soul  were  suffering 
for  the  first  time,  perhaps  because  now,  for 


136  ECSTASY 

the  first  time,  her  soul  had  not  been  it- 
self but  another.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
another  woman  and  not  she  had  spoken  to 
him,  to  Quaerts,  just  now.  An  exalted 
woman,  a  woman  of  illusions;  the  woman, 
in  fact,  whom  he  saw  in  her  and  not  the 
woman  that  she  was,  a  humble  woman,  a 
woman  of  love.  Ah,  she  had  had  to  re- 
strain herself  not  to  ask  him: 

"Why  do  you  speak  to  me  like  that'? 
Why  do  you  raise  up  your  beautiful 
thoughts  to  me'?  Why  do  you  not  rather 
let  them  drip  down  upon  me'?  For  see, 
I  do  not  stand  so  high  as  you  think;  and 
see,  I  am  at  your  feet  and  my  eyes  seek 
you  above  me." 

Ought  she  to  have  told  him  that  he 
was  deceiving  himself?  Ought  she  to 
have  asked  him: 

"Why  do  I  lower  myself  when  I  mix 
with  other  people  *?  What  do  you  see  in 
me  after  air?     Behold,  I  am  only  a  wo- 


ECSTASY  137 

man,  a  woman  of  weakness  and  dreams; 
and  I  have  come  to  love  you,  I  don't  know 
why." 

Ought  she  to  have  opened  his  eyes  and 
said  to  him : 

"Look  upon  your  own  soul  in  a  mirror; 
look  upon  yourself  and  see  how  you  are  a 
god  walking  the  earth,  a  god  who  knows 
everything  because  he  feels  it,  who  feels 
everything  because  he  knows  it.  ..." 

Everything'?  .  .  .  No,  not  everything; 
for  he  deceived  himself,  this  god,  and 
thought  to  find  an  equal  in  her,  who  was 
but  his  creature. 

Ought  she  to  have  declared  all  this,  at 
the  cost  of  her  modesty  and  his  happiness? 
For  his  happiness — she  felt  perfectly  as- 
sured— lay  in  seeing  her  in  the  way  in 
which  he  saw  her. 

"With  me  he  is  happy  I"  she  thought. 
"And  sympathy  is  sealed  between  us. 
...  It  was  not  friendship,  nor  did  he 


138  ECSTASY 

speak  of  love;  he  called  it  simply  sympa- 
thy. .  .  .  With  me  he  feels  only  his  real 
self  and  not  that  other  .  .  .  the  brute 
that    is    within    him  I   .  .  .  The    brute  I 

Then  there  came  drifting  over  her  a 
gloom  as  of  gathering  clouds;  and  she 
shuddered  at  something  that  suddenly 
rolled  through  her:  a  broad  stream  of 
blackness,  as  though  its  waters  were  filled 
with  mud,  which  bubbled  up  in  troubled 
rings,  growing  larger  and  larger.  And 
she  took  fear  before  this  stream  and  tried 
not  to  see  it;  but  it  swallowed  up  all  her 
landscapes — so  bright  before,  with  their 
luminous  horizons — now  with  a  sky  of  ink 
smeared  above,  like  a  foul  night. 

"How  loftily  he  thinks,  how  noble  his 
thoughts  are!"  Cecile  still  forced  herself 
to  imagine,  in  spite  of  it  all.  .   .  . 

But  the  magic  was  gone :  her  admiration 
of  his  lofty  thoughts  tumbled  away  into 


ECSTASY  139 

an  abyss;  then  suddenly,  by  a  lightning 
flash  through  the  night  of  that  inky  sky, 
she  saw  clearly  that  this  loftiness  of 
thought  was  a  supreme  sorrow  to  her  in 
him. 

It  was  quite  dark  in  the  room.  Cecile, 
afraid  of  the  lightning  which  revealed  her 
to  herself,  had  thrown  herself  back  upon 
the  cushions  of  the  couch.  She  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  pressing  her  eyes,  as 
though  she  wished,  after  this  moment  of 
self-revelation,  to  be  blind  for  ever. 

But  demoniacally  it  raged  through  her, 
a  hurricane  of  hell,  a  storm  of  passion, 
which  blew  out  of  the  darkness  of  the 
landscape,  lashing  the  tossed  waves  of  the 
stream  towards  the  inky  sky. 

"Oh!"  she  moaned.  "I  am  unworthy 
of  him  .  .  .  unworthy!   .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1 

QUAERTS  lived  on  the  Plein, 
above  a  tailor,  where  he  oc- 
cupied two  small  rooms  fur- 
nished in  the  most  ordinary  style.  He 
could  have  had  much  better  lodgings  if 
he  chose,  but  he  was  indifferent  to  com- 
fort: he  never  gave  it  a  thought  in  his 
own  place;  when  he  came  across  it  else- 
where, it  did  not  attract  him.  But  it  dis- 
tressed Jules  that  Quaerts  should  live  in 
this  fashion;  and  the  boy  had  long  wanted 
to  improve  the  sitting-room.  He  was 
now  busy  hanging  some  trophies  on  an 
armour-rack,  standing  on  a  pair  of  steps, 
humming  a  tune  which  he  remembered 
from  some  opera.     But  Quaerts  paid  no 

heed  to  what  Jules  was   doing:  he   lay 

140 


ECSTASY  141 


w 


ithout  moving  on  the  sofa,  at  full  length, 
in  his  pyjamas,  unshorn,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  Renascence  decorations  of 
the  Law  Courts,  tracing  a  background  of 
architecture  behind  the  leafless  trees  of 
the  Plein. 

"Look,  Taco,  will  this  do?"  asked  Jules, 
after  hanging  an  Algerian  sabre  between 
two  Malay  creeses  and  draping  the  folds  of 
a  Javanese  sarong  between. 

"Yes,  beautifully,"  replied  Quaerts. 

But  he  did  not  look  at  the  rack  of  arms 
and  continued  gazing  at  the  Law  Courts. 
He  lay  back  motionless.  There  was  no 
thought  in  him,  nothing  but  listless  dis- 
satisfaction with  himself  and  consequent 
sadness.  For  three  weeks  he  had  led  a 
life  of  debauch,  to  deaden  consciousness, 
or  perhaps  he  did  not  know  precisely  what : 
something  that  was  in  him,  something  that 
was  beautiful  but  tedious,  in  ordinary  life. 
He  had  begun  by  shooting  over  a  friend's 


142  ECSTASY 

land  in  North  Brabant.  It  lasted  a 
week;  there  were  eight  of  them;  sport  in 
the  open  air,  followed  by  sporting  dinners, 
with  not  only  a  great  deal  of  wine,  cer- 
tainly the  best,  but  still  more  geneva,  also 
of  the  finest,  like  a  liqueur.  Ragging- 
excursions  on  horseback  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood; follies  at  a  farm — the  peasant- 
woman  carried  round  in  a  barrel  and 
locked  up  in  the  cow-house — mischievous 
exploits,  worthy  only  of  unruly  boys  and 
savages  and  ending  in  a  summons  before  a 
magistrate,  with  a  fine  and  damages. 
Wound  up  to  a  pitch  of  excitement  with 
too  much  sport,  too  much  oxygen  and  too 
much  drink,  five  of  the  pack,  including 
Quaerts,  had  gone  on  to  Brussels,  where 
one  of  them  had  a  mistress.  There  they 
stayed  nearly  a  fortnight,  leading  a  life 
of  continual  excess,  with  endless  cham- 
pagne and  larking:  a  wild  joy  of  living, 
which,  natural  enough  at  first,  had  in  the 


ECSTASY  143 

end  to  be  screwed  up  and  screwed  up 
higher  still,  to  make  it  last  a  couple  of 
days  longer;  the  last  nights  spent 
weariedly  over  ecarte,  with  none  but  the 
fixed  idea  of  winning,  the  exhaustion  of 
all  their  violence  already  pulsing  through 
their  bodies,  like  a  nervous  relaxation,  and 
their  eyes  gazing  without  expression  at 
the  cards. 

During  that  time  Quaerts  had  only  once 
thought  of  Cecile ;  and  he  had  not  followed 
up  the  thought.  She  had  no  doubt  arisen 
three  or  four  times  in  his  brain,  as  a  vague 
image,  white  and  transparent,  an  appari- 
tion which  had  vanished  again  immedi- 
ately, leaving  no  trace  of  its  passage.  All 
this  time  too  he  had  not  written  to  her; 
and  it  had  only  once  struck  him  that  a 
silence  of  three  weeks,  after  their  last  con- 
versation, must  seem  strange  to  her. 
There  it  had  remained.  He  was  back 
now ;  he  had  lain  three  days  long  at  home 


144  ECSTASY 

on  his  bed,  on  his  sofa,  tired,  feverish,  dis- 
satisfied, disgusted  with  everything,  every- 
thing; then,  one  morning,  remembering 
that  it  was  Wednesday,  he  had  thought  of 
Jules  and  his  riding-lesson. 

He  sent  for  Jules,  but,  too  lazy  to  shave 
or  dress,  he  remained  lying  where  he  was. 
And  he  still  lay  there,  realizing  nothing. 
There  before  him  were  the  Law  Courts, 
with  the  Privy  Council  adjoining.  At 
the  side  he  could  see  the  Witte  ^  and  Wil- 
liam the  Silent  standing  on  his  pedestal 
in  the  middle  of  the  Plein:  that  was  all 
exceedingly  interesting.  And  Jules  was 
hanging  up  trophies:  also  interesting. 
And  the  most  interesting  of  all  was  the 
stupid  life  he  had  been  leading.  What  a 
tense  effort  to  lull  his  boredom  I  Had  he 
really  amused  himself  during  that  time'? 
No;  he  had  made  a  pretence  of  being 
amused:    the    episode    of    the    peasant- 

^  The  leading  club  at  The  Hague. 


ECSTASY  14^ 

woman  and  the  ecarte  had  excited  him; 
the  sport  was  bad,  the  wine  good,  but  he 
had  drunk  too  much  of  it.  And  then  the 
filthy  champagne  of  that  wench,  at  Brus- 
sels!  .  .  . 

Well,  what  then^  He  had  absolute 
need  of  it,  of  a  life  like  that,  of  sport 
and  wild  enjoyment;  it  served  to  bal- 
ance the  other  thing  in  him,  which  became 
impossible  in  everyday  life. 

But  why  could  he  not  preserve  some 
sort  of  mean  in  both?  He  was  perfectly 
well-equipped  for  ordinary  life;  and  with 
that  he  possessed  something  in  addition, 
something  that  was  very  beautiful  in  his 
soul:  why  could  he  not  remain  balanced 
between  those  two  inner  spheres'?  Why 
was  he  always  tossed  from  one  to  the  other, 
as  a  thing  that  belonged  to  neither'? 
How  fine  he  could  have  made  his  life  with 
just  the  least  tact,  the  least  self-restraint! 
How  he  might  have  lived  in  a  healthy  de- 


146  ECSTASY 

light  of  purified  animal  existence,  tem- 
pered by  a  higher  joyousness  of  soul! 
But  tact,  self-restraint:  he  had  none  of  all 
this;  he  lived  according  to  his  impulses, 
always  in  extremes;  he  was  incapable  of 
half-measures.  And  in  this  lay  his  pride 
as  well  as  his  regret:  his  pride  that  he  felt 
this  or  that  thing  "wholly,"  that  he  was 
unable  to  compromise  with  his  emotions; 
and  his  regret  that  he  could  not  com- 
promise and  bring  into  harmony  the  ele- 
ments which  for  ever  waged  war  within 
him. 

When  he  had  met  Cecile  and  had  seen 
her  again  and  yet  once  again,  he  had  felt 
himself  carried  wholly  to  the  one  extreme, 
the  summit  of  exaltation,  of  pure  crystal 
sympathy,  in  which  the  circle  of  his  at- 
mosphere— as  he  had  said — glided  in  sym- 
pathy over  hers,  in  a  caress  of  pure  chastity 
and  spirituality,  as  two  stars,  spinning 
closer   together,   might   mingle   their   at- 


ECSTASY  147 

mospheres  for  a  moment,  like  breaths. 
What  smiling  happiness  had  not  been 
within  his  reach,  as  it  were  a  grace  from 
Heaven ! 

Then,  then  he  had  felt  himself  toppling 
down,  as  if  he  had  rocked  over  the  bal- 
ancing-point; and  he  had  longed  for 
earthly  pleasures,  for  great  simplicity  of 
emotion,  for  primitive  enjoyment  of  life, 
for  flesh  and  blood.  He  now  remembered 
how,  two  days  after  his  last  conversation 
with  Cecile,  he  had  seen  Emilie  Hijdrecht, 
here,  in  these  very  rooms,  where  at  length, 
stung  by  his  neglect,  she  had  ventured  to 
come  to  him  one  evening,  heedless  of  all 
caution.  With  a  line  of  cruelty  round  his 
mouth  he  recalled  how  she  had  wept  at 
his  knees,  how  in  her  jealousy  she  had  com- 
plained against  Cecile,  how  he  had  ordered 
her  to  be  silent  and  forbidden  her  to  pro- 
nounce Cecile's  name.  Then,  their  mad 
embrace,  an  embrace  of  cruelty:  cruelty 


148  ECSTASY 

on  her  part  against  the  man  whom  time 
after  time  she  lost  when  she  thought  him 
secured  for  good,  whom  she  could  not  un- 
derstand-and  to  whom  she  clung  with  all 
the  violence  of  her  brutal  passion,  a  purely 
animal  passion  of  primitive  times;  cruelty 
on  his  part  against  the  woman  he  despised, 
while  in  his  passion  he  almost  stifled  her 
in  his  embrace. 


Yes,  what  then'?  How  was  he  to  find 
the  mean  between  the  two  poles  of  his 
nature?  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  knew  that  he  could  never  find  it.  He 
lacked  some  quality,  or  a  certain  power, 
necessary  to  find  it.  He  could  do  nothing 
but  allow  himself  to  swing  to  and  fro. 
Very  well  then :  he  would  let  himself 
swing;  there  was  no  help  for  it.  For 
now,  in  the  lassitude  following  his  out- 
burst of  savagery,  he  began  to  experience 


ECSTASY  149 

again  a  violent  longing,  like  one  who, 
after  a  long  evening  passed  in  a  ball-room 
heavy  with  the  foul  air  of  gaslight  and  the 
stifling  closeness  and  mustiness  of  human 
breath,  craves  a  high  heaven  and  width  of 
atmosphere:  a  violent  longing  for  Cecile. 
And  he  smiled,  glad  that  he  knew  her,  that 
he  was  able  to  go  to  her,  that  it  was  now 
his  privilege  to  enter  into  the  chaste  sanc- 
tuary of  her  environment,  as  into  a  tem- 
ple; he  smiled,  glad  that  he  felt  his  long- 
ing and  proud  of  it,  exalting  himself  above 
other  men.  Already  he  tasted  the  pleas- 
ure of  confessing  to  her  honestly  how  he 
had  lived  during  the  last  three  weeks;  and 
already  he  heard  her  voice,  though  he  could 
not  distinguish  the  words.  .  .  . 

Jules  climbed  down  the  steps.  He  was 
disappointed  that  Quaerts  had  not  fol- 
lowed his  arranging  of  the  weapons  upon 
the  rack  and  his  draping  of  the  stuffs 
around  them.     But  he  had  quietly  con- 


1^0  ECSTASY 

tinued  his  work  and,  now  that  it  was  fin- 
ished, he  climbed  down  and  came  and  sat 
on  the  floor  quietly,  with  his  head  against 
the  foot  of  the  couch  on  which  his  friend 
lay  thinking.  Jules  said  never  a  word ;  he 
looked  straight  before  him,  a  little  sulk- 
ily, knowing  that  Quaerts  was  looking  at 
him. 

"Jules,"  said  Quaerts. 

But  Jules  did  not  answer,  still  staring. 

"Tell  me,  Jules,  what  makes  you  like 
me  so  much?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  answered  Jules, 
with  thin  lips. 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"No.  How  can  you  know  why  you  are 
fond  of  any  one?" 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  so  fond  of  me, 
Jules.     It's  not  good." 

"Very  well,  I  will  be  less  so  in  the  fu- 
ture." 

Jules  rose  suddenly  and  took  his  hat. 


ECSTASY  151 

He  put  out  his  hand;  but  Quaerts  held 
him  back  with  a  laugh : 

"You  see,  scarcely  any  one  is  fond  of 
me,  except  .  .  .  you  and  your  father. 
Now  I  know  why  your  father  likes  me,  but 
not  why  you  do." 

"You  want  to  know  everything." 

"Is  that  so  very  wrong?" 

"Certainly.  You'll  never  be  satisfied. 
Mamma  always  says  that  no  one  knows 
anything." 

"And  your' 

"I?  .   .  .  Nothing.  .  .  ." 

"How  do  you  mean,  nothing'?" 

"I  know  nothing  at  all.  .  .  .  Let  me 

go- 

"Are  you  cross,  Jules'?" 

"No,  but  I  have  an  engagement." 

"Can't    you    wait    till    I'm    dressed? 

Then  we  can  go  together.     I  am  going  to 

Aunt  Cecile's." 
Jules  objected: 


152  ECSTASY 

"All  right,  provided  you  hurry." 

Quaerts  got  up.  He  now  saw  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  weapons,  which  he  had 
entirely  forgotten : 

"You've  done  it  very  nicely,  Jules,"  he 
said,  in  an  admiring  tone.  "Thank  you 
very  much." 

Jules  did  not  answer;  and  Quaerts  went 
through  into  his  dressing-room.  The  lad 
sat  down  on  the  sofa,  bolt  upright,  look- 
ing out  at  the  Law  Courts,  across  the 
bare  trees.  His  eyes  filled  with  great 
round  tears,  which  ran  down  his  cheeks. 
Sitting  stiff  and  motionless,  he  wept. 


CHAPTER  IX 


CECILE  had  passed  those  three 
weeks  in  a  state  of  ignorance 
which  had  filled  her  with  pain. 
She  had,  it  is  true,  heard  through  Dolf 
that  Ouaerts  was  away  shooting,  but  be- 
yond that  nothing.  A  thrill  of  joy  elec- 
trified her  when  the  door  behind  the  screen 
opened  and  she  saw  him  enter  the  room. 
He  was  standing  in  front  of  her  before  she 
could  recover  herself;  and,  as  she  was 
trembling,  she  did  not  rise,  but,  still  sit- 
ting, reached  out  her  hand  to  him,  her 
fingers  quivering  imperceptibly. 

"I  have  been  out  of  town,"  he  began. 
"So  I  heard." 

"Have  you  been  well  all  this  timeT' 
"Quite  well,  thank  you." 
153 


154  ECSTASY 

He  noticed  that  she  was  somewhat  pale, 
that  she  had  a  light  blue  shadow  under 
her  eyes  and  that  there  was  lassitude  in 
all  her  movements.  But  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  was  nothing  extraor- 
dinary in  this,  or  that  perhaps  she  merely 
looked  pale  in  the  creamy  whiteness  of 
her  soft,  white  dress,  like  silky  wool,  even 
as  her  figure  became  yet  slighter  in  the 
constraint  of  the  scarf  about  her  waist, 
with  its  long  white  fringe  falling  to  her 
feet.  She  was  sitting  alone  with  Chris- 
tie, the  child  upon  his  footstool  with  his 
head  in  her  lap  and  a  picture-book  on  his 
knees. 

"You  two  are  a  perfect  Madonna  and 
Child,"  said  Quaerts. 

"Little  Dolf  has  gone  out  to  walk  with 
his  god-father,"  she  said,  looking  fondly 
upon  her  child  and  motioning  to  him 
gently. 

At  this  bidding  the  boy  stood  up  and 


ECSTASY  155 

shyly  approached  Quaerts,  offering  him  a 
hand.  Quaerts  lifted  him  up  and  set  him 
on  his  knee: 

"How  light  he  is  I" 

"He  is  not  strong,"  said  Cecile. 

"You  coddle  him, too  much." 

She  laughed : 

"Pedagogue!"  she  laughed.  "How  do 
I  coddle  him?" 

"I  always  find  him  nestling  against  your 
skirts.  He  must  come  with  me  one  of 
these  days:  I  should  make  him  do  some 
gymnastics." 

"Jules  horse-riding  and  Christie  gym- 
nastics!" she  exclaimed. 

"Yes  .  .  .sport,  in  fact!"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  meaning  look  of  fun. 

She  glanced  back  at  him;  and  sympa- 
thy smiled  from  the  depths  of  her  gold- 
grey  eyes.  He  felt  thoroughly  happy 
and,  with  the  child  still  upon  his  knees, 
said: 


1^6  ECSTASY 

"I  have  come  to  confess  to  you  .  .  . 
Madonna  I" 

Then,  as  though  startled,  he  put  the 
child  away  from  him. 

"To  confess'?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  There,  Christie,  go  back  to 
Mamma;  I  mustn't  keep  you  by  me  any 
longer." 

"Very  well,"  said  Christie,  with  great, 
wondering  eyes,  and  caught  hold  of  the 
cord  of  Quaerts'  eyeglass. 

"The  Child  would  forgive  too  easily," 
said  Quaerts. 

"And  I,  have  I  anything  to  forgive 
you?"  she  asked. 

"I  shall  be  only  too  happy  if  you  will 
see  it  in  that  light." 

"Then  begin  your  confession." 

"But  the  Child  .  .  ."  he  hesitated. 

Cecile  stood  up;  she  took  the  child, 
kissed  him  and  sat  him  on  a  stool  by  the 


ECSTASY  157 

window  with  his  picture-book.  Then  she 
came  back  to  the  sofa: 

"He  will  not  hear.  .  .  ." 

And  Quaerts  began  the  story,  choosing 
his  words :  he  spoke  of  the  shooting,  of  the 
ragging-parties  and  the  peasant-woman 
and  of  Brussels.  She  listened  atten- 
tively, with  dread  in  her  eyes  at  the  vio- 
lence of  such  a  life,  the  echo  of  which 
reverberated  in  his  words,  even  though 
the  echo  was  softened  by  his  reverence. 

"And  is  all  this  a  sin  calling  for  absolu- 
tion?" she  asked,  when  he  had  finished. 

"Is  it  not?" 

"I  am  no  Madonna,  but  ...  a  woman 
with  fairly  emancipated  views.  If  you 
were  happy  in  what  you  did,  it  was  no  sin, 
for  happiness  is  good.  .  .  .  Were  you 
happy,  I  ask  you'?  For  in  that  case  what 
you  did  was  .  .  .  good." 

"Happy?"  he  asked. 


158  ECSTASY 

"Yes." 

"No.  .  .  .  Therefore  I  have  sinned, 
sinned  against  myself,  have  I  not?  For- 
give me  .  .  .  Madonna." 

She  was  troubled  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  which,  gently  broken,  wrapped  her 
about  as  with  a  spell;  she  was  troubled 
to  see  him  sitting  there,  filling  with  his 
body,  his  personality,  his  existence  a  place 
in  her  room,  beside  her.  In  a  single  sec- 
ond she  lived  through  hours,  feeling  her 
calm  love  lying  heavy  within  her,  like  a 
sweet  weight;  feeling  a  longing  to  throw 
her  arms  about  him  and  tell  him  that  she 
worshipped  him;  feeling  also  an  intense 
sorrow  at  what  he  had  admitted,  that  once 
again  he  had  been  unhappy.  Hardly  able 
to  control  herself  in  her  compassion,  she 
rose,  moved  towards  him  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder : 

"Tell  me,  do  you  mean  all  this*?     Is 


ECSTASY  159 

it  all  true?  Is  it  true  that  you  have  been 
living  as  3^ou  say  and  yet  have  not  been 
happy?" 

"Perfectly  true,  on  my  soul." 

'.'Then  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it." 

"You  were  unable  to  force  yourself  to 
be  more  moderate?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then  I  should  like  to  teach  you." 

"And  I  should  not  like  to  learn,  from 
you.  For  it  is  and  always  will  be  my 
best  happiness  to  be  immoderate  also 
where  you  are  concerned,  immoderate  in 
the  life  of  my  real  self,  my  soul,  just  as  I 
have  now  been  immoderate  in  the  life  of 
my  apparent  self." 

Her  eyes  grew  dim;  she  shook  her  head, 
her  hand  still  upon  his  shoulder: 

"That  is  not  right,"  she  said,  in  deep 
distress. 


i6o  ECSTASY 

"It  is  a  joy  .  .  .  for  both  those  beings. 
I  have  to  be  like  that,  I  have  to  be  im- 
moderate: they  both  demand  it." 

"But  that  is  not  right,"  she  insisted. 
"Pure  enjoyment  .  .  ." 

"The  lowest,  but  also  the  highest.  .  .  ." 

A  shiver  passed  through  her,  a  deadly 
fear  for  him. 

"No,  no,"  she  persisted.  "Don't  think 
that.  Don't  do  it.  Neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  Really,  it  is  all  wrong.  Pure 
joy,  unbridled  joy,  even  the  highest,  is 
not  good.  In  that  way  you  force  your 
life.  When  you  speak  so,  I  am  afraid  for 
your  sake.  Try  to  recover  moderation. 
You  have  so  many  possibilities  of  being 
happy." 

"Oh,  yes  I   .   .   ." 

"Yes,  but  what  I  mean  is  that  you  must 
not  be  fanatical.  And  .  .  .  and  also,  for 
the  love  of  God,  don't  run  quite  so  madly 
after  pleasure." 


ECSTASY  161 

He  looked  up  at  her;  he  saw  her  be- 
seeching him  with  her  eyes,  with  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  with  her  whole  at- 
titude, as  she  stood  bending  slightly  for- 
ward. He  saw  her  beseeching  him,  even 
as  he  heard  her;  and  then  he  knew  that  she 
loved  him.  A  feeling  of  bright  rapture 
came  upon  him,  as  though  something  high 
were  descending  upon  him  to  guide  him. 
He  did  not  stir — he  felt  her  hand  thrilling 
at  his  shoulder — afraid  lest  with  the 
smallest  movement  he  should  drive  that 
rapture  away.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  for 
a  moment  to  speak  a  word  of  tend'^rness 
to  her  or  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  press 
her  to  him:  she  was  so  profoundly  trans- 
figured in  his  eyes  that  any  such  profane 
desire  remained  far  removed  from  him. 
And  yet  he  felt  at  that  moment  that  he 
loved  her,  but  as  he  had  never  yet  loved 
any  one  before,  so  completely  and  exclu- 
sively, with  the  noblest  elements  that  lie 

) 


i62  ECSTASY 

hidden  away  in  the  soul,  often  unknown 
even  to  itself.  He  felt  that  he  loved  her 
with  new-born  feelings  of  frank  youth  and 
fresh  vigour  and  pure  unselfishness.  And 
it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  all  a  dream  of 
something  which  did  not  exist,  a  dream 
lightly  woven  about  him,  a  web  of  sun- 
beams. 

"Madonna!"  he  whispered.  "Forgive 
me.  .  .  ." 

"Promise  then.  .   .  ." 

"Willingly,  but  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
keep  my  promise.     I  am  weak.  .  .  ." 
JNo. 

"Ah,  I  am  I  But  I  give  you  my  promise ; 
and  I  promise  also  to  try  my  utmost  to 
keep  it.     Will  you  forgive  me  now?" 

She  nodded  to  him;  her  smile  fell  on  him 
like  a  ray  of  sunlight.  Then  she  went  to 
the  child,  took  it  in  her  arms  and  brought 
it  to  Quaerts: 


ECSTASY  163 

"Put  your  arms  round  his  neck,  Christie, 
and  give  him  a  kiss." 

He  took  the  child  from  her;  it  threw  its 
little  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him 
on  the  forehead. 

"The  Madonna  forgives  me  .  .  .  and 
the  Child  I"  he  whispered. 


They  stayed  long  talking  to  each  other; 
and  no  one  came  to  disturb  them.  The 
child  had  gone  back  to  sit  by  the  window. 
Twilight  began  to  strew  pale  ashes  in  the 
room.  He  saw  Cecile  sitting  there, 
sweetly  white;  the  kindly  melody  of  her 
half-breathed  words  came  rippling  to- 
wards him.  They  talked  of  many  things : 
of  Emerson ;  of  \'an  Eeden's  new  poem  in 
the  Nieuwe  Gids;  of  their  respective  views 
of  life.  He  accepted  a  cup  of  tea,  only 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  move  with 


i64  ECSTASY 

the  yielding  lines  of  her  graciousness, 
standing  before  the  tea-table  in  the  corner. 
In  her  white  dress,  she  had  something 
about  her  of  marble  grown  lissom  with 
inspiration  and  warm  life.  He  sat  mo- 
tionless, listening  reverently,  swathed  in 
a  still  rapture  of  delight.  It  was  a  mood 
which  defied  analysis,  without  a  visible 
origin,  springing  from  their  sympathetic 
fellowship  as  a  flower  springs  from  an  in- 
visible seed  after  a  drop  of  rain  and  a  kiss 
of  the  sunshine.  She  too  was  happy;  she 
no  longer  felt  the  pain  which  his  rever- 
ence had  caused  her.  True,  she  was  a  lit- 
tle sad  by  reason  of  what  he  had  told  her, 
but  she  was  happy  for  the  sake  of  this 
speck  of  the  present.  Nor  did  she  any 
longer  see  that  dark  stream,  that  inky  sky, 
that  night  landscape :  everything  that  she 
now  saw  was  bright  and  calm.  And  hap- 
piness breathed  about  her,  a  tangible  hap- 
piness, like  a  living  caress.     Sometimes 


ECSTASY  16^- 

they  ceased  speaking  and  both  of  them 
looked  towards  the  child,  as  it  sat  reading; 
or  Christie  would  ask  them  something  and 
they  would  answer.  Then  they  smiled 
one  to  the  other,  because  the  child  was  so 
good  and  did  not  disturb  them. 

"If  only  this  could  continue  for  ever," 
he  ventured  to  say,  though  still  fearing 
lest  a  word  might  break  the  crystalline 
transparency  of  their  happiness.  "If  you 
could  only  see  into  me  now,  how  all  in  me 
is  peace.  I  don't  know  why,  but  that  is 
how  I  feel.  Perhaps  because  of  your  for- 
giveness. Really  the  Catholic  religion  is 
delightful,  with  its  absolution.  What  a 
comfort  that  must  be  for  people  of  weak 
character  I" 

"But  I  cannot  think  your  character 
weak.  And  it  is  not.  You  tell  me  that 
you  sometimes  know  how  to  place  your- 
self above  ordinary  life,  whence  you  can 
look  down  upon  its  grief  as  on  a  comedy 


i66  ECSTASY 

which  makes  one  laugh  sadly  for  a  minute, 
but  which  is  not  true.  I  too  believe  that 
life,  as  we  see  it,  is  no  more  than  a  symbol 
of  a  truer  life,  concealed  beneath  it,  which 
we  do  not  see.  But  I  cannot  rise  beyond 
the  symbol,  while  you  can.  Therefore 
you  are  very  strong  and  feel  yourself  very 
great." 

"How  strange,  when  I  just  think  my- 
self weak  and  you  great  and  powerful. 
You  dare  to  be  what  you  are,  in  all  your 
harmony;  and  I  am  always  hiding  and 
am  afraid  of  people  individually,  though 
sometimes  I  am  able  to  rise  above  life  in 
the  mass.  But  these  are  riddles  which  it 
is  vain  for  me  to  attempt  to  solve;  and, 
though  I  have  not  the  power  to  solve  them, 
at  this  moment  I  feel  nothing  but  happi- 
ness. Surely  I  may  say  that  once  aloud, 
may  I  not,  quite  aloud?" 

She  smiled  to  him  in  the  bliss  which  she 
felt  of  making  him  happy. 


ECSTASY  167 

"It  is  the  first  time  I  have  felt  happi- 
ness in  this  way,"  he  continued.  "Indeed 
itis  the  first  time  I  have  felt  it  at  all.  .  .  ." 

"Then  don't  analyse  it." 

"There  is  no  need.  It  is  standing  be- 
fore me  in  all  its  simplicity.  Do  you 
know  why  I  am  happy'?" 

"Don't  analyse,  don't  analyse,"  she  re- 
peated in  alarm. 

"No,"  he  said,  "but  may  I  tell  you,  with- 
out analysing?" 

"No,  don't,"  she  stammered,  "because 
.  .  .  because  I  know.  .  .  ." 

She  besought  him,  very  pale,  with 
folded,  trembling  hands.  The  child 
looked  at  them;  it  had  closed  its  book,  and 
come  to  sit  down  on  its  stool  by  its  mother, 
with  a  look  of  gay  sagacity  in  its  pale- 
blue  eyes. 

"Then  I  obey  you,"  said  Quaerts,  with 
some  difficulty. 

And  they  were  both  silent,  their  eyes 


i68  ECSTASY 

expanded  as  with  the  lustre  of  a  vision. 
It  seemed  to  be  gently  beaming  about 
them  through  the  pale  ashen  twilight. 


CHAPTER  X 

THIS  evening  Cecile  had  written 
a  great  deal  into  her  diary;  and 
she  now  paced  up  and  down  in 
her  room,  with  locked  hands  hanging  be- 
fore her  and  her  head  slightly  bowed  and 
a  fixed  look  in  her  eyes.  There  was 
anxiety  about  her  mouth.  Before  her  was 
the  vision,  as  she  had  conceived  it.  He 
loved  her  with  his  soul  alone,  not  as  a 
woman  who  is  pretty  and  good,  but  with 
a  higher  love  than  that,  with  the  finest 
nervous  fibres  of  his  being — his  real  be- 
ing— with  the  supreme  emotion  of  the 
very  essence  of  his  soul.  Thus  she  felt 
that  he  loved  her  and  in  no  other  way,  with 
contemplation,  with  adoration.  Thus  she 
felt   it   actually,   through   a   sympathetic 

power  of  divination  by  which  each  of  them 

169 


170  ECSTASY 

was  able  to  guess  what  actually  passed 
within  the  other.  And  this  was  his  happi- 
ness— his  first,  as  he  said — thus  to  love 
her  and  in  no  other  way.  Oh,  she  well 
understood  him  I  She  understood  his  illu- 
sion, which  he  saw  in  her;  and  she  now 
knew  that,  if  she  really  wished  to  love 
him  for  his  sake  and  not  for  her  own,  she 
must  needs  appear  to  be  nothing  else  to 
him,  she  must  preserve  his  illusion  of  a 
woman  not  of  flesh,  one  who  desired  none 
of  the  earthly  things  that  other  women 
did,  one  who  should  be  soul  alone,  a 
sister  soul  to  his.  But,  while  she  saw 
before  her  this  vision  of  her  love,  calm 
and  radiant,  she  saw  also  the  struggle 
which  awaited  her,  the  struggle  with 
herself,  with  her  own  distress :  distress  be- 
cause he  thought  of  her  so  highly  and 
named  her  Madonna,  the  while  she  longed 
only  to  be  lowly  and  his  slave.  She  would 
have  to  seem  the  woman  he  saw  in  her,  for 


ECSTASY  171 

the  sake  of  his  happiness,  and  the  part 
would  be  a  heavy  one  for  her  to  support, 
for  she  loved  him,  ah,  with  such  simplicity, 
with  all  her  woman's  heart,  wishing  to  give 
herself  to  him  entirely,  as  only  once  in 
her  life  a  woman  gives  herself,  whatever 
the  sacrifice  might  cost  her,  the  sacrifice 
made  in  ignorance  of  herself  and  perhaps 
afterwards  to  be  made  in  bitterness  and 
sorrow  I     The  outward  appearance  of  her 
conduct  and  her  inward  consciousness  of 
herself:  the  conflict  of  these  would  fall 
heavily  upon  her,  but  she  thought  upon 
the  struggle  with  a  smile,  with  joy  beam- 
ing through  her  heart,  for  this  bitterness 
would  be  endured  for  him,  deliberately  for 
him  and  for  him  alone.     Oh,  the  luxury 
to  suffer  for  one  whom  she  loved  as  she 
loved    him;    to    he    tortured    with    inner 
longing,    that    he    might    not    come    to 
her   with   the   embrace   of  his   arms   and 
the  kiss  of  his  mouth;  and  to  feel  that 


172  ECSTASY 

the  torture  was  for  the  sake  of  his  happi- 
ness, his  I  To  feel  that  she  loved  him 
enough  to  go  to  him  with  open  arms  and 
beg  for  the  alms  of  his  caresses;  but  also 
to  feel  that  she  loved  him  more  than  that 
and  mxore  highly  and  that — not  from  pride 
or  bashfulness,  which  are  really  egoism, 
but  solely  from  sacrifice  of  herself  to  his 
happiness — she  never  would,  never  could, 
be  a  suppliant  before  him! 

To  suffer,  to  suffer  for  him  I  To  wear 
a  sword  through  her  soul  for  him  I  To 
be  a  martyr  for  her  god,  for  whom  there 
was  no  happiness  on  earth  save  through 
her  martyrdom  I  And  she  had  passed  her 
life,  had  spent  long,  long  years,  without 
feeling  until  this  day  that  such  luxury 
could  exist,  not  as  a  fantasy  in  rhymes, 
but  as  a  reality  in  her  heart.  She  had  been 
a  young  girl  and  had  read  the  poets  and 
what  they  rhyme  of  love;  and  she  had 
thought  she  understood  it  all,  with  a  subtle 


ECSTASY  173 

comprehension  and  yet  without  ever  hav- 
ing had  the  least  acquaintance  with  emo- 
tion itself.  She  had  been  a  young  woman, 
had  been  married,  had  borne  children. 
Her  married  life  flashed  through  her  mind 
in  a  lightning-flicker  of  memory;  and  she 
stopped  still  before  the  portrait  of  her 
dead  husband,  standing  there  on  its  easel, 
draped  in  sombre  plush.  The  mask  it 
wore  was  of  ambition :  an  austere,  refined 
face,  with  features  sharp,  as  if  engraved  in 
fine  steel;  coldly-intelligent  eyes  with  a 
fixed  portrait  look;  thin,  clean-shaven 
lips,  closed  firmly  like  a  lock.  Her  hus- 
band! And  she  still  lived  in  the  same 
house  where  she  had  lived  with  him,  where 
she  had  had  to  receive  her  many  guests 
when  he  was  Foreign  Minister.  Her  re- 
ceptions and  dinners  flickered  up  in  her 
mind,  so  many  scenes  of  worldliness;  and 
she  clearly  recalled  her  husband's  eye  tak- 
ing in  everything  with  a  quick  glance  of 


174  ECSTASY 

approval  or  disapproval :  the  arrangement 
of  her  rooms,  her  dress,  the  ordering  of  her 
parties.  Her  marriage  had  not  been  un- 
happy; her  husband  was  a  little  cold  and 
unexpansive,  wrapped  wholly  in  his  am- 
bition; but  he  was  attached  to  her  after 
his  fashion  and  even  tenderly;  she  too  had 
been  fond  of  him;  she  thought  at  the  time 
that  she  was  marrying  him  for  love:  her 
dependent  womanliness  loved  the  male, 
the  master.  Of  a  delicate  constitution, 
probably  undermined  by  excessive  brain- 
work,  he  had  died  after  a  short  illness. 
Cecile  remembered  her  sorrow,  her  loneli- 
ness with  the  two  children,  as  to  whom 
he  had  already  feared  that  she  would  spoil 
them.  And  her  loneliness  had  been  sweet 
to  her,  among  the  clouds  of  her  dream- 
ing. .  .  . 

This  portrait — a  handsome  life-size 
photograph;  a  carbon  impression  dark 
with  a  Rembrandt  shadow — w.hy  had  she 


ECSTASY  175 

never  had  it  copied  in  oils,  as  she  had  at 
first  intended*?  The  intention  had  faded 
away  within  her;  for  months  she  had  not 
given  it  a  thought;  now  suddenly  it  re- 
curred to  her.  .  .  .  And  she  felt  no  self- 
reproach  or  remorse.  She  would  not  have 
the  painting  made  now.  The  portrait  was 
well  enough  as  it  was.  She  thought  of 
the  dead  man  without  sorrow.  She  had 
never  had  cause  to  complain  of  him;  he 
had  never  had  anything  with  which  to  re- 
proach her.  And  now  she  was  free;  she 
became  conscious  of  the  fact  with  a  great 
exultation.  Free,  to  feel  what  she  would  I 
Her  freedom  arched  above  her  as  a  blue 
firmament  in  which  new  love  ascended 
with  a  dove's  immaculate  flight.  Free- 
dom, air,  light  I  She  turned  from  the  por- 
trait with  a  smile  of  rapture ;  she  thrust  her 
arms  above  her  head  as  if  she  would  meas- 
ure her  freedom,  the  width  of  the  air,  as 
if  she  would  go  to  meet  the  light.     Love, 


176  ECSTASY 

she  was  in  love  I  There  was  nothing  but 
love;  nothing  but  the  harmony  of  their 
souls,  the  harmony  of  her  handmaiden's 
soul  with  the  soul  of  her  god,  an  exile  upon 
earth.  Oh,  what  a  mercy  that  this  har- 
mony could  exist  between  him  so  exalted 
and  her  so  lowly  I  But  he  must  not  see 
her  lowliness;  she  must  remain  the 
Madonna,  remain  the  Madonna  for  his 
sake,  in  the  martyrdom  due  to  his  rever- 
ence, in  the  dizziness  of  the  high  place, 
the  heavenly  throne  to  which  he  raised 
her,  beside  himself.  She  felt  this  dizzi- 
ness shuddering  about  her  like  rings  of 
light.  And  she  flung  herself  on  her  sofa 
and  locked  her  fingers;  her  eyelids  quiv- 
ered; then  she  remained  staring  before 
her,  towards  some  very  distant  point. 


CHAPTER  XI 

JULES  had  been  away  from  school 
for  a  day  or  two  with  a  bad  head- 
ache, which  had  made  him  look 
very  pale  and  given  him  an  air  of  sad- 
ness; but  he  was  a  little  better  now  and, 
feeling  bored  in  his  own  room,  he  went 
downstairs  to  the  empty  drawing-room 
and  sat  at  the  piano.  Papa  was  at  work 
in  his  study,  but  it  would  not  interfere 
with  Papa  if  he  played.  Dolf  spoilt  him, 
seeing  in  his  son  something  that  was  want- 
ing in  himself  and  therefore  attracted  him, 
even  as  possibly  it  had  formerly  attracted 
him  in  his  wife  also:  Jules  could  do  no 
wrong  in  his  eyes ;  and,  if  the  boy  had  only 
been  willing,  Dolf  would  have  spared  no 
expense  to  give  him  a  careful  musical  edu- 
cation.    But  Jules  violently  opposed  him- 

177 


178  ECSTASY 

self  to  anything  resembling  lessons  and 
besides  maintained  that  it  was  not  worth 
while.  He  had  no  ambition;  his  vanity 
was  not  tickled  by  his  father's  hopes  of 
him  or  his  appreciation  of  his  playing: 
he  played  only  for  himself,  to  express  him- 
self in  the  vague  language  of  musical 
sounds.  At  this  moment  he  felt  alone  and 
abandoned  in  the  great  house,  though  he 
knew  that  Papa  was  at  work  two  rooms  off 
and  that  when  he  pleased  he  could  take 
refuge  on  Papa's  great  couch;  at  this  mo- 
ment he  had  within  himself  an  almost 
physical  feeling  of  dread  at  his  loneliness, 
which  caused  something  to  reel  about  him, 
an  immense  sense  of  utter  desolation. 

He  was  fourteen  years  old,  but  he  felt 
himself  neither  child  nor  boy:  a  certain 
feebleness,  an  almost  feminine  need  of  de- 
pendency, of  devotion  to  some  one  who 
would  be  everything  to  him  had  already, 
in   his   earliest   childhood,   struck   at   his 


ECSTASY  179 

virility;  and  he  shivered  in  his  dread  of 
this  inner  loneliness,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  himself.  He  suffered  greatly  from 
vague  moods  in  which  that  strange  some- 
thing oppressed  and  stifled  him;  then,  not 
knowing  where  to  hide  his  inner  being,  he 
would  go  to  play,  so  that  he  might  lose 
himself  in  the  great  sound-soul  of  music. 
His  thin,  nervous  fingers  would  grope 
hesitatingly  over  the  keys;  he  himself 
would  suffer  from  the  false  chords  which 
he  struck  in  his  search;  then  he  would  let 
him.self  go,  find  a  single,  very  short  mo- 
tive, of  plaintive,  minor  melancholy,  and 
caress  that  motive  in  his  joy  at  possessing 
it,  at  having  found  it,  caress  it  until  it  re- 
turned each  moment  as  a  monotony  of 
sorrow.  He  would  think  the  motive  so 
beautiful  that  he  could  not  part  with  it; 
those  four  or  five  notes  expressed  so  well 
everything  that  he  felt  that  he  would  play 
them  over  and  over  again,  until  Suzette 


i8o  ECSTASY 

burst  into  the  room  and  made  him  stop, 
saying  that  otherwise  she  would  be  driven 
mad. 

Thus  he  sat  playing  now.  And  it  was 
pitiful  at  first:  he  hardly  recognized  the 
notes;  cacophonous  discords  wailed  and 
cut  into  his  poor  brain,  still  smarting  from 
the  headache.  He  moaned  as  if  he  were 
in  pain  afresh;  but  his  fingers  were  hypno- 
tized, they  could  not  desist,  they  still 
sought  on ;  and  the  notes  became  purer :  a 
short  phrase  released  itself  with  a  cry,  a 
cry  which  returned  continually  on  the 
same  note,  suddenly  high  after  the  dull 
bass  of  the  prelude.  And  this  note  came  as 
a  surprise  to  Jules;  that  fair  cr)^  of  sorrow 
frightened  him;  and  he  was  glad  to  have 
found  it,  glad  to  have  so  sweet  a  sorrow. 
Then  he  was  no  longer  himself;  he  played 
on  until  he  felt  that  it  was  not  he  who 
was  playing  but  another,  within  him,  who 
compelled  him;  he  found  the  full,  pure 


ECSTASY  181 

chords  as  by  intuition ;  through  the  sobbing 
of  the  sounds  ran  the  same  musical  figure, 
higher  and  higher,  with  silver  feet  of  pur- 
ity, following  the  curve  of  crystal  rain- 
bows lightly  spanned  on  high;  reaching 
the  topmost  point  of  the  arch  it  struck  a 
cry,  this  time  in  very  drunkenness,  out  into 
the  major,  throwing  up  wide  arms  in  glad- 
ness to  heavens  of  intangible  blue.     Then 
it  was  like  souls  of  men,  which  first  live 
and  suifer  and  utter  their  complaint  and 
then  die,  to  glitter  in  forms  of  light  whose 
long  wings  spring  from  their  pure  shoul- 
ders in  sheets  of  silver  radiance ;  they  trip 
one  behind  the  other  over  the  rainbows, 
over  the  bridges  of  glass,  blue  and  rose  and 
yellow;  and  there  come  more  and  more, 
kindreds  and  nations  of  souls;  they  hurry 
their  silver  feet,  they  press  across  the  rain- 
bow, they  laugh  and  sing  and  push  one 
another;  in  their  jostling  their  wings  clash 
together,   scattering   silver   down.     Now 


i82  ECSTASY 

they  stand  all  on  the  top  of  the  arc  and 
look  up,  with  the  great  wondering  of  their 
laughing  child-eyes;  and  they  dare  not, 
they  dare  not;  but  others  press  on  behind 
them,  innumerous,  more  and  more  and  yet 
more ;  they  crowd  upwards  to  the  topmost 
height,  their  wings  straight  in  the  air,  close 
together.  And  now,  now  they  must;  they 
may  hesitate  no  longer.  One  of  them, 
taking  deep  breaths,  spreads  his  flight  and 
with  one  shock  springs  out  of  the  thick 
throng  into  the  ether.  Soon  many  fol- 
low, one  after  another,  till  their  shapes 
swoon  in  the  blue;  all  is  gleam  about  them. 
Now,  far  below,  thin  as  a  thin  thread,  the 
rainbow  arches  itself,  but  they  do  not  look 
at  it;  rays  fall  towards  them:  these  are 
souls,  which  they  embrace;  they  go  with 
them  in  locked  embraces.  And  then  the 
light:  light  beaming  over  all;  all  things 
liquid  in  everlasting  light;  nothing  but 
light:  the  sounds  sing  the  light,  the  sounds 


ECSTASY  183 

are  the  light,  there  is  nothing  now  but 
the  light  everlasting.  .  .  . 

"Jules!" 

He  looked  up  vacantly. 

"Jules  I     Jules!" 

He  smiled  now,  as  if  awakened  from  a 
dream-sleep;  he  rose,  went  to  her,  to 
Cecile.  She  stood  in  the  doorway;  she 
had  remained  standing  there  while  he 
played;  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  he  was 
playing  a  part  of  herself. 

"What  were  you  playing,  Jules'?"  she 
asked. 

He  was  quite  awake  now  and  distressed, 
fearing  that  he  must  have  made  a  terrible 
noise  in  the  house.  .  .  . 

"I  don't  know.  Auntie,"  he  said. 

She  hugged  him,  suddenly,  violently,  in 
gratitude.  .  .  .  To  him  she  owed  it,  the 
great  mystery,  since  the  day  when  he  had 
broken  out  in  anger  against  her.   .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XI 


OH,  for  that  which  cannot  be  told, 
because  words  are  so  few,  al- 
ways the  same  combinations  of 
a  few  letters  and  sounds;  oh,  for  that 
which  cannot  be  thought  of  in  the  narrow 
limits  of  comprehension;  that  which  at 
best  can  only  be  groped  for  with  the 
antennae  of  the  soul;  essence  of  the  es- 
sences of  the  ultimate  elements  of  our  be- 
mgl  ... 

She  wrote  no  more,  she  knew  no  more: 
why  write  that  she  had  no  words  and  yet 
seek  them'? 

She  was  waiting  for  him  and  she  now 

looked  out  of  the  open  window  to  see  if 

184 


ECSTASY  185 

he  was  coming.  She  remained  there  for  a 
long  time;  then  she  felt  that  he  would 
come  immediately  and  so  he  did :  she  saw 
him  approaching  along  the  Scheveningen 
Road ;  he  pushed  open  the  iron  gate  of  the 
villa  and  smiled  to  her  as  he  raised  his 
hat. 

"Wait I"  she  cried.     "Stay  where  you 


I" 
are: 


She  ran  down  the  steps,  into  the  garden, 
where  he  stood.  She  came  towards  him, 
beaming  with  happiness  and  so  lovely, 
so  delicately  frail;  her  blonde  head  so 
seemly  in  the  fresh  green  of  May;  her 
figure  like  a  young  girl's  in  the  palest  grey 
gown,  with  black  velvet  ribbon  and  here 
and  there  a  touch  of  silver  lace. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come! 
You  have  not  been  to  see  me  for  so  long  I" 
she  said,  giving  him  her  hand. 

He  did  not  answer  at  once;  he  merely 
smiled. 


i86  ECSTASY 

"Let  us  sit  in  the  garden,  behind:  the 
weather  is  so  lovely." 

"Let  us,"  he  said. 

They  walked  into  the  garden,  by  the 
mesh  of  the  garden-paths,  the  jasmine- 
vines  starring  white  as  they  passed.  In  an 
adjoining  villa  a  piano  was  playing;  the 
sounds  came  to  them  of  Rubinstein's 
Romance. 

"Listen!"  said  Cecile,  starting. 
"What  is  that?" 

"What'?"  he  asked. 

"What  they  are  pl-aying." 

"Something  of  Rubinstein's,  I  believe," 
he  said. 

"Rubinstein?  .  .  ."  she  repeated, 
vaguely.     "Yes.  .  .  ." 

And  she  relapsed  into  the  wealth  of 
memories  of  .  .  .  what?  Once  before, 
in  this  way,  she  had  walked  along  these 
same  paths,  past  jasmine- vines  like  these, 
long,  ever  so  long  ago;  she  had  walked 


ECSTASY  187 

with  him,  with  him.  .  .  .  Why?  Could 
the  past  repeat  itself,  after  centur- 
ies'? .  .  . 

"It  is  three  weeks  since  you  have  been  to 
see  me,"  she  said,  simply,  recovering  her- 
self. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  replied. 

"What  was  the  reason'?" 

He  hesitated  throughout  his  being,  seek- 
ing an  excuse : 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  softly. 
"You  will  forgive  me,  will  you  not?  One 
day  it  was  this,  another  day  that.  And 
then  ...  I  don't  know.  Many  reasons 
together.  It  is  not  good  that  I  should  see 
you  often.  Not  good  for  you,  nor  for 
me. 

"Let  us  begin  with  the  second.  Why 
is  it  not  good  for  you?" 

"No,  let  us  begin  with  the  first,  with 
what  concerns  you.     People  .  .  ." 

"People?" 


i88  ECSTASY 

"People  are  talking  about  us.  I  am 
looked  upon  as  an  irretrievable  rake.  I 
will  not  have  your  name  linked  profanely 
with  mine." 

"And  is  it?" 

"Yes.  .  .  ." 

She  smiled : 

"I  don't  mind." 

"But  you  must  mind;  if  not  for  your 
own  sake  .  .  ." 

He  stopped.  She  knew  he  was  think- 
ing of  her  boys;  -she  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"And  now,  why  is  it  notigood  for  you?" 

"A  man  must  not  be  happy  too  often." 

"What  a  sophism!     Why  not'?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  feel  I  am  right. 
It  spoils  him;  it  is  too  much  for  him." 

"Are  you  happy  here,  then?" 

He  smiled  and  gently  nodded  yes. 

They  were  silent  for  very  long.  They 
were  now  sitting  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 


ECSTASY  189 

on  a  seat  which  stood  in  a  semicircle  of 
flowering  rhododendrons:  the  great  pur- 
ple-satin blossoms  shut  them  in  with  a 
tall  hedge  of  closely-clustered  bouquets, 
rising  from  the  paths  and  overtopping 
their  heads;  standard  roses  flung  their  in- 
cense before  them.  They  sat  still,  happy 
in  each  other,  happy  in  the  sympathy  of 
their  atmospheres  mingling  together;  yet 
in  their  happiness  there  was  the  invincible 
melancholy  which  is  an  integral  part  of  all 
life,  even  in  happiness. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  am  to  tell  you,"  he 
said.  "But  suppose  that  I  were  to  see  you 
every  day,  every  moment  that  I  thought  of 
you.  .  .  .  That  would  not  do.  For  then 
I  should  become  so  refined,  so  subtle,  that 
for  pure  happiness  I  should  not  be  able 
to  live;  my  other  being  would  receive  no- 
thing and  would  suffer  like  a  beast  that  is 
left  to  starve.  I  am  bad,  I  am  selfish,  to 
be  able  to  speak  like  this,  but  I  must  tell 


190  ECSTASY 

you  the  truth,  that  you  may  not  think  too 
well  of  me.  And  so  I  only  seek  your  com- 
pany as  something  very  beautiful  which  I 
allow  myself  to  enjoy  just  once  in  a  way." 

She  was  silent. 

"Sometimes  .  .  .  sometimes,  too,  I  ima- 
gine that  in  doing  this  I  am  not  behaving 
well  to  you,  that  in  some  way  or  other  I 
offend  or  hurt  you.  Then  I  sit  brooding 
about  it,  until  I  begin  to  think  that  it 
would  be  best  to  take  leave  of  you  for 
ever. 

She  was  still  silent;  motionless  she  sat, 
with  her  hands  lying  slackly  in  her  lap, 
her  head  slightly  bowed,  a  smile  about  her 
mouth. 

"Speak  to  me,"  he  begged. 

"You  do  not  offend  me,  nor  hurt  me," 
she  said.  "Come  to  me  whenever  you  feel 
the  need.  Do  always  as  you  think  best; 
and  I  shall  think  that  best  too:  you  must 
not  doubt  that." 


ECSTASY  191 

"I  should  so  much  like  to  know  in  what 
way  you  like  me?" 

"In  what  way?  Surely,  as  a  Madonna 
does  a  sinner  who  repents  and  gives  her 
his  soul,"  she  said,  archly.  "Am  I  not  a 
Madonna?" 

"Are  you  content  to  be  so?" 

"Can  you  be  so  ignorant  about  women 
as  not  to  know  how  every  one  of  us  has 
a  longing  to  solace  and  relieve,  in  fact, 
to  play  at  being  a  Madonna?" 

"Do  not  speak  like  that,"  he  said,  with 
pain  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  speaking  seriously.  .  .  ." 

He  looked  at  her;  a  doubt  rose  within 
him,  but  she  smiled  to  him;  a  calm  glory 
was  about  her;  she  sat  amidst  the  bouquets 
of  the  rhododendrons  as  in  the  blossoming 
tenderness  of  one  great  mystic  flower. 
The  wound  of  his  doubt  was  soothed  with 
balsam.  He  surrendered  himself  wholly 
to  his  happiness;  an  atmosphere  wafted 


192  ECSTASY 

about  him  of  the  sweet  calm  of  life,  an 
atmosphere  in  which  life  becomes  dispas- 
sionate and  restful  and  smiling,  like  the 
air  which  is  rare  about  the  gods.  It  began 
to  grow  dark;  a  violet  dusk  fell  from  the 
sky  like  crape  falling  upon  crape;  quietly 
the  stars  lighted  up.  The  shadows  in 
the  garden,  between  the  shrubs  among 
which  they  sat,  flowed  into  one  another; 
the  piano  in  the  next  villa  had  stopped. 
And  happiness  drew  a  veil  between  his 
soul  and  the  outside  world:  the  garden 
with  its  design  of  plots  and  paths ;  the  villa 
with  curtains  at  its  windows  and  its  iron 
gate;  the  road  behind,  with  the  rattle  of 
carriages  and  trams.  All  this  withdrew 
itself  far  back;  all  ordinary  life  retreated 
far  from  him;  vanishing  behind  the  veil,  it 
died  away.  It  was  no  dream  nor  con- 
ceit :  reality  to  him  was  the  happiness  that 
had  come  while  the  world  died  away;  the 
happiness    that    was    rare,    invisible,    in- 


ECSTASY  193 

tangible,  coming  from  the  love  which 
alone  is  sympathy,  calm  and  without  pas- 
sion, the  love  which  exists  purely  of  it- 
self, without  further  thought  either  of 
taking  anything  or  even  of  giving  any- 
thing, the  love  of  the  gods,  which  is  the 
soul  of  love  itself.  High  he  felt  himself : 
the  equal  of  the  illusion  which  he  had  of 
her,  which  she  wished  to  be  for  his  sake, 
of  which  he  also  was  now  absolutely  cer- 
tain. For  he  could  not  know  that  what 
had  given  him  happiness — his  illusion — 
so  perfect,  so  crA^stal-clear,  might  cause 
her  some  sort  of  grief;  he  could  not  at  this 
moment  penetrate  without  sin  into  the 
truth  of  the  law  which  insists  on 
equilibrium,  which  takes  away  from  one 
what  it  offers  to  another,  which  gives  hap- 
piness and  grief  together;  he  could  not 
know  that,  if  happiness  was  with  him,  with 
her  there  was  anguish,  anguish  in  that  she 
had  to  make  a  pretence  and  deceive  him 


194  ECSTASY 

for  his  own  sake,  anguish  in  that  she 
wanted  what  was  earthly,  that  she  craved 
for  what  was  earthly,  that  she  yearned  for 
earthly  pleasures!  .  .  .  And  still  less 
could  he  know  that,  notwithstanding  all 
this,  there  was  nevertheless  voluptuous- 
ness in  her  anguish :  that  to  suffer  through 
him,  to  suffer  for  him  made  of  her  anguish 
all  voluptuousness. 


It  was  dark  and  late;  and  they  were  still 
sitting  there. 

"Shall  we  go  for  a  walk?"  she  asked. 

He  hesitated,  with  a  smile;  but  she  re- 
peated her  suggestion : 

"Why  not,  if  you  care  to?" 

And  he  could  no  longer  refuse. 

They  rose  and  went  along  by  the  back 
of  the  house;  and  Cecile  said  to  the  maid, 
whom  she  saw  sitting  with  her  needle-work 
by  the  kitchen-door: 


ECSTASY  195 

"Greta,  fetch  me  my  little  black  hat, 
my  black-lace  shawl  and  a  pair  of  gloves." 

The  servant  rose  and  went  into  the 
house.  Cecile  noticed  how  a  trifle  of  shy- 
ness was  emphasized  in  Quaerts'  hesita- 
tion, now  that  they  stood  loitering,  wait- 
ing among  the  flower-beds.  She  smiled, 
plucked  a  rose  and  placed  it  in  her  waist- 
band. 

"Have  the  boys  gone  to  bed*?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  still  smiling,  "long 
ago." 

The  servant  returned;  Cecile  put  on  the 
little  black  hat,  threw  the  lace  about  her 
neck,  but  refused  the  gloves  which  Greta 
offered  her: 

"No,  not  these;  get  me  a  pair  of  grey 
ones.  .  .  ." 

The  servant  went  into  the  house  again; 
and  as  Cecile  looked  at  Quaerts  her  gaiety 
increased.     She  gave  a  little  laugh: 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  mis- 


196  ECSTASY 

chievously,  knowing  perfectly  well  what 
it  was. 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  he  said,  vaguely, 
and  waited  patiently  until  Greta  returned. 

Then  they  went  through  the  garden- 
gate  into  the  Woods.  They  walked 
slowly,  without  speaking;  Cecile  played 
with  her  long  gloves,  not  putting  them 
on. 

"Really  .  .  ."  he  began,  hesitating. 

"Come,  what  is  it'?" 

"You  know;  I  told  you  the  other  day: 
it's  not  right.  .  .  ." 

"What  isn'tr' 

"What  we  are  doing  now.  You  risk 
too  much." 

"Too  much,  with  you?" 

"If  any  one  were  to  see  us.  .  .  ." 

"And  what  then?" 

He  shook  his  head : 

"You  are  wilful;  you  know  quite  well." 

She  clinched  her  eyes;  her  mouth  grew 


ECSTASY  197 

serious;  she  pretended  to  be  a  little  angry: 

"Listen,  you  mustn't  be  anxious  if  Fm 
not.  I  am  doing  no  harm.  Our  walks  are 
not  secret:  Greta  at  least  knows  about 
them.  And,  besides,  I  am  free  to  do  as 
I  please." 

"It's  my  fault:  the  first  time  we  went 
for  a  walk  in  the  evening,  it  was  at  my 
request.   .  .  ." 

"Then  do  penance  and  be  good;  come 
now,  without  scruple,  at  ttiy  request,"  she 
said,  with  mock  emphasis. 

He  yielded,  feeling  far  too  happy  to 
wish  to  make  any  sacrifice  to  a  convention 
which  at  that  moment  did  not  exist. 

They  walked  on  silently.  Cecile's  sen- 
sations alwavs  came  to  her  in  shocks  of 
surprise.  So  it  had  been  when  Jules  had 
grown  suddenly  angry  with  her;  so  also, 
midway  on  the  stair,  after  that  conversa- 
tion at  dinner  of  circles  of  sympathy. 
And  now,  precisely  in  the  same  way,  with 


igS  ECSTASY 

the  shock  of  sudden  revelation,  came  this 
new  sensation,  that  after  all  she  was  not 
suffering  so  seriously  as  she  had  at  first 
thought;  that  her  agony,  being  a  voluptu- 
ousness, could  not  be  a  martyrdom;  that 
she  was  happy,  that  happiness  had  come 
about  her  in  the  fine  air  of  his  atmosphere, 
because  they  were  together,  together.  .  .  . 
Oh,  why  wish  for  anything  more,  above 
all  for  things  less  pure'?  Did  he  not  love 
her  and  was  not  his  love  already  a  fact 
and  was  not  his  love  earthly  enough  for 
her,  now  that  it  was  a  fact'?  Did  he  not 
love  her  with  a  tenderness  which  feared 
for  anything  that  might  trouble  her  in 
the  world,  through  her  ignoring  that  world 
and  wandering  about  with  him  alone  in  the 
dark?  Did  he  not  love  her  with  tender- 
ness, but  also  with  the  lustre  of  his  soul's 
divinity,  calling  her  Madonna  and  by  this 
title — unconsciously,  perhaps,  in  his  sim- 
plicity— making  her  the  equal  of  all  that 


ECSTASY  199 

was  divine  in  him?  Did  he  not  love  her'? 
Heavens  above,  did  he  not  love  her? 
Well,  what  did  she  want  more?  No,  no, 
she  wanted  nothing  more :  she  was  happy, 
she  shared  happiness  with  him;  he  gave 
it  to  her  just  as  she  gave  it  to  him;  it  was 
a  sphere  that  moved  with  them  wherever 
they  went,  seeking  their  way  along  the 
darkling  paths  of  the  Woods,  she  leaning 
on  his  arm,  he  leading  her,  for  she  could 
see  nothing  in  the  dark,  which  yet  was  not 
dark,  but  pure  light  of  their  happiness. 
And  so  it  was  as  if  it  were  not  evening,  but 
day,  noonday,  noonday  in  the  night,  hour 
of  light  in  the  dusk  I 

3 

And  the  darkness  was  light;  the  night 
dawned  with  light  which  beamed  on  every 
side.  Calmly  it  beamed,  the  light,  like 
one  solitary  planet,  beaming  with  the  soft 
radiance  of  purity,  bright  in  a  heaven  of 


200  ECSTASY 

still,  white,  silver  light,  a  heaven  where 
they  walked  along  milky  ways  of  light  and 
music;  it  beamed  and  sounded  beneath 
their  feet;  it  welled  in  seas  of  ether  high 
above  their  heads  and  beamed  and 
sounded  there,  high  and  clear.  And  they 
were  alone  in  their  heaven,  in  their  in- 
finite heaven,  which  was  as  space,  endless 
beneath  them  and  above  and  around  them, 
with  endless  spaces  of  light  and  music,  of 
light  that  was  music.  Their  heaven  lay 
eternal  on  every  side  with  blissful  vistas  of 
white  radiance,  fading  away  in  lustre  and 
vanishing  landscapes,  like  oases  of  flowers 
and  plants  beside  waters  of  light,  still  and 
clear  and  hushed  with  peace.  For  its 
peace  was  the  ether  in  which  all  desire  is 
dissolved  and  becomes  transparent  and 
crystal;  and  their  life  was  a  limpid  exist- 
ence in  unruffled  peace;  they  walked  on, 
in  heavenly  sympathy  of  fellowship,  close 
together,  hemmed  in  one  narrow  circle,  a 


ECSTASY  201 

circle  of  radiance  which  embraced  them 
both.  Barely  was  there  a  recollection  in 
them  of  the  world  which  had  died  out  in 
the  glitter  of  their  heaven;  there  was 
naught  in  them  but  the  ecstasy  of  their 
love,  which  had  become  their  soul,  as  if 
they  no  longer  had  any  soul,  as  if  they  were 
only  love;  and,  when  they  looked  about 
them  and  into  the  light,  they  saw  that  their 
heaven,  in  which  their  happiness  was  the 
light,  was  nothing  but  their  love,  and  they 
saw  that  the  landscapes — the  flowers  and 
plants  by  waters  of  light — were  nothing 
but  their  love  and  that  the  endless  space, 
the  eternities  of  light  and  space,  of  spaces 
full  of  light  and  music,  stretching  on  every 
hand,  beneath  them  and  above  and  around 
them,  that  all  this  was  nothing  but  their 
love,  which  had  grown  into  heaven  and 
happiness. 

And  now  they  came  into  the  very  midst, 
to  the  very  sun-centre,  the  very  goal  which 


202  ECSTASY 

Cecile  had  once  foreseen,  concealed  in  the 
distance,  in  the  irradiance  of  innate  divi- 
nity. Up  to  the  very  goal  they  stepped; 
and  on  every  side  it  shot  its  endless  rays 
into  each  and  every  eternity,  as  if  their 
love  were  becoming  the  centre  of  the  uni- 
verse. .  .  . 

4 

But  they  sat  on  a  bench,  in  the  dark, 
not  knowing  that  it  was  dark,  for  their 
eyes  were  full  of  the  light.  They  sat 
against  each  other,  silently  at  first,  till, 
remembering  that  he  had  a  voice  and  could 
still  speak  words,  he  said : 

"I  have  never  lived  through  such  a  mo- 
ment as  this.  I  forget  where  we  are  and 
who  we  are  and  that  we  are  human.  We 
were,  were  we  not'?  I  seem  to  remember 
that  w^e  once  were'?" 

"Yes,  but  we  are  that  no  longer," 
she  said,   smiling;   and  her  eyes,  grown 


ECSTASY  203 

big,  looked  into  the  darkness  that  was 
light. 

"Once  we  were  human,  suffering  and  de- 
siring, in  a  world  where  certainly  much 
was  beautiful,  but  where  much  also  was 
ugly." 

"Why  speak  of  that  now*?"  she  asked; 
and  her  voice  sounded  to  herself  as 
coming  from  very  far  and  low  beneath 
her. 

"I  seemed  to  remember  it." 

"I  wanted  to  forget  it." 

"Then  I  will  do  so  too.  But  may  I  not 
thank  you  in  human  speech  for  lifting  me 
above  humanity*?" 

"Have  I  done  so?" 

"Yes.  May  I  thank  you  for  it  ...  on 
my  knees'?" 

He  knelt  down  and  reverently  took  her 
hands.  He  could  just  distinguish  the  out- 
line of  her  figure,  seated  motionless  and 
still  upon  the  bench;  above  them  was  a 


204  ECSTASY 

pearl-grey  twilight  of  stars,  between  the 
black  boughs.  She  felt  her  hands  in  his 
and  then  his  mouth,  his  kiss,  upon  her 
hand.  Very  gently,  she  released  herself; 
and  then,  with  a  great  soul  of  modesty, 
full  of  desireless  happiness,  very  gently 
she  bent  her  arms  about  his  neck,  took  his 
head  against  her  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead : 

"And  I,  I  thank  you  tool"  she  whis- 
pered, rapturously. 

He  was  still;  and  she  held  him  fast  in 
her  embrace. 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said,  "for  teaching 
me  this  and  how  to  be  happy  as  we  are 
and  no  otherwise.  You  see,  when  I  still 
lived  and  was  human,  when  I  was  a 
woman,  I  thought  that  I  had  lived  before 
I  met  you,  for  I  had  had  a  husband  and  I 
had  children  of  whom  I  was  very  fond. 
But  from  you  I  first  learnt  to  live,  to  live 
without    egoism    and    without   desire;    I 


ECSTASY  205 

learnt  that  from  you  this  evening  or  .  .  . 
this  day,  which  is  it'?  You  have  given  me 
life  and  happiness  and  everything.  And 
I  thank  you,  I  thank  you  I  You  see,  you 
are  so  great  and  so  strong  and  so  clear  and 
you  have  borne  me  towards  your  own  hap- 
piness, which  should  also  be  mine,  but  it 
was  so  far  above  me  that,  without  you, 
I  should  never  have  attained  it  I  For 
there  was  a  barrier  for  me  which  did  not 
exist  for  you.  You  see,  when  I  was  still 
human" — and  she  laughed,  clasping  him 
more  tightly — "I  had  a  sister;  and  she  too 
felt  that  there  was  a  barrier  between  her 
happiness  and  herself;  and  she  felt  that 
she  could  not  surmount  this  barrier  and 
was  so  unhappy  because  of  it  that  she 
feared  lest  she  should  go  mad.  But  I,  I 
do  not  know:  I  dreamed,  I  thought,  I 
hoped,  I  waited,  oh,  I  waited;  and  then 
you  came ;  and  you  made  me  understand  at 
once  that  you  could  be  no  man,  no  hus- 


2o6  ECSTASY 

band  for  me,  but  that  you  could  be  more 
for  me:  my  angel,  O  my  deliverer,  who 
would  take  me  in  his  arms  and  bear  me 
over  the  barrier  into  his  own  heaven,  where 
he  himself  was  god,  and  make  me  his 
Madonna  I  Oh,  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you  I 
I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you;  I  can 
only  say  that  I  love  you,  that  I  adore  you, 
that  I  lay  myself  at  your  feet.  Remain 
as  you  are  and  let  me  adore  you,  while 
you  kneel  where  you  are.  I  may  adore 
you,  may  I  not,  while  you  yourself  are 
kneeling?  You  see,  I  too  must  confess, 
as  you  used  to  do,"  she  continued,  for  now 
she  could  not  but  confess.  "I  have  not 
always  been  straightforward  with  you;  I 
have  sometimes  pretended  to  be  the 
Madonna,  knowing  all  the  time  that  I  was 
but  an  ordinary  woman,  a  woman  who 
frankly  loved  you.  But  I  deceived  you 
for  your  own  happiness,  did  I  not?  You 
wished  me  so,  you  were  happy  when  I  was 


ECSTASY  207 

so  and  no  otherwise.  And  now,  now 
too  you  must  forgive  me,  because  now  I 
need  no  longer  pretend,  because  that  is  past 
and  has  died  away,  because  I  myself  have 
died  away  from  myself,  because  now  I  am 
no  longer  a  woman,  no  longer  human  for 
myself,  but  only  what  you  wish  me  to  be : 
a  Madonna  and  your  creature,  an  atom  of 
your  own  essence  and  divinity.  So  will 
you  forgive  me  the  past'?  May  I  thank 
you  for  my  happiness,  for  my  heaven,  my 
light,  O  my  master,  for  my  joy,  my  great, 
my  immeasurable  joy'?" 

He  rose  and  sat  beside  her,  taking  her 
gently  in  his  arms: 

"Are  you  happy?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  laying  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  in  a  giddiness  of  light.  "And 
your 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  and  he  asked 
again,  "And  do  you  desire  .  .  .  nothing 
more'?" 


2o8  ECSTASY 

*'No,  nothing  I"  she  stammered.  "I 
want  nothing  but  this,  nothing  but  what 
is  mine,  oh,  nothing,  nothing  morel" 

"Swear  it  to  me  ...  by  something 
sacred  I" 

"I  swear  it  to  you  ...  by  yourself!" 
she  declared. 

He  pressed  her  head  to  his  shoulder 
again.  He  smiled;  and  she  did  not  see 
that  there  was  sadness  in  his  laugh,  for 
she  was  blinded  with  light. 


They  were  long  silent,  sitting  there. 
She  remembered  having  said  many  things, 
she  no  longer  knew  what.  About  her  she 
saw  that  it  was  dark,  with  only  that  pearl- 
grey  twilight  of  stars  above  their  heads, 
between  the  black  boughs.  She  felt  that 
she  was  lying  with  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der; she  heard  his  breath.  A  sort  of  chill 
crept  down  her  shoulders,  notwithstand- 


ECSTASY  209 

ing  the  warmth  of  his  embrace;  she  drew 
the  lace  closer  about  her  throat  and  felt 
that  the  bench  on  which  they  sat  was  moist 
with  dew. 

"I  thank  you,  I  love  you  so,  you  make 
me  so  happy,"  she  repeated. 

He  was  silent;  he  pressed  her  to  him 
very  gently,  with  sheer  tenderness.  Her 
last  words  still  sounded  in  her  ears  after 
she  had  spoken  them.  Then  she  was 
bound  to  acknowledge  to  herself  that  they 
had  not  been  spontaneous,  like  all  that 
she  had  told  him  before,  as  he  knelt  be- 
fore her  with  his  head  at  her  breast.  She 
had  spoken  them  to  break  the  silence: 
formerly  that  silence  had  never  troubled 
her;  why  should  it  now? 

"Gomel"  he  said  gently;  and  even  yet 
she  did  not  hear  the  sadness  of  his  voice, 
in  this  single  word. 

They  rose  and  walked  on.  It  came  to 
him  that  it  was  late,  that  they  must  re- 


210  ECSTASY 

turn  by  the  same  path;  beyond  that,  his 
thoughts  were  sorrowful  with  many  things 
which  he  could  not  have  expressed;  a  poor 
twilight  had  come  about  him,  after  the 
blinding  light  of  their  heaven  of  but  now. 
And  he  had  to  be  cautious:  it  was  very 
dark  here;  and  he  could  only  just  see  the 
path,  lying  very  pale  and  undecided  at 
their  feet;  they  brushed  against  the  trunks 
of  the  trees  as  they  passed. 

"I  can  see  nothing,"  said  Cecile,  laugh- 
ing.    "Can  you  see  the  way'?" 

"Rely  upon  me:  I  can  see  quite  well  in 
the  dark,"  he  replied.  "I  have  eyes  like 
a  lynx.  ..." 

Step  by  step  they  went  on  and  she  felt 
a  sweet  joy  in  being  guided  by  him;  she 
clung  close  to  his  arm,  saying  laughingly 
that  she  was  afraid  and  that  she  would  be 
terrified  if  he  were  suddenly  to  leave  hold 
of  her. 

"And  suppose  I  were  suddenly  to  run 


ECSTASY  211 

away  and  leave  you  alone'?"  said  Quaerts, 
jestingly. 

She  laughed;  she  besought  him  with  a 
laugh  not  to  do  so.  Then  she  was  silent, 
angry  with  herself  for  laughing;  a  burden 
of  sadness  bore  her  down  because  of  her 
jesting  and  laughter.  She  felt  as  if  she 
were  unworthy  of  that  into  which,  in  radi- 
ant light,  she  had  just  been  received. 

And  he  too  was  filled  with  sadness :  the 
sadness  of  having  to  lead  her  through  the 
dark,  by  invisible  paths,  past  rows  of  in- 
visible tree-trunks  which  might  graze  and 
wound  her;  of  having  to  lead  her  through 
a  dark  wood,  through  a  black  sea,  through 
an  ink-dark  sphere,  when  they  were  re- 
turning from  a  heaven  where  all  had  been 
light  and  all  happiness,  without  sadness 
or  darkness. 

And  so  they  were  silent  in  that  sadness, 
until  they  reached  the  highroad,  the  old 
Scheveningen  Road. 


212  ECSTASY 

They  approached  the  villa.  A  tram 
went  by;  two  or  three  people  passed  on 
foot;  it  was  a  fine  evening.  He  brought 
her  home  and  waited  until  the  door  opened 
to  his  ring.  The  door  remained  un- 
opened; meantime  he  pressed  her  hand 
tightly  and  hurt  her  a  little,  involuntarily. 
Greta  must  have  fallen  asleep,  she 
thought : 

"Ring  again,  would  you?" 

He  rang  again,  louder  this  time;  after 
a  moment,  the  door  opened.  She  gave  him 
her  hand  once  more,  with  a  smile. 

"Good-night,  mevrouw,"  he  said,  taking 
her  fingers  respectfully  and  raising  his  hat. 

Now,  now  she  could  hear  the  sound  ot 
his  voice,  with  its  note  of  sadness.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XII 


THEN  she  knew,  next  day,  when 
she  sat  alone,  wrapped  in  reflec- 
tion, that  the  sphere  of  happi- 
ness, the  highest  and  brightest,  may  not  be 
trod;  that  it  may  only  beam  upon  us  as  a 
sun;  and  that  we  may  not  enter  into  it, 
into  the  sacred  sun-centre.  They  had 
done  that.  .  .  . 

Listless  she  sat,  with  her  children  by 
her  side,  Christie  looking  pale  and 
languid.  Yes,  she  spoiled  them;  but  how 
could  she  change  herself? 

Weeks  passed ;  and  Cecile  heard  nothing 
from  Quaerts.  It  was  always  so :  after  he 
had  been  with  her,  weeks  would  drag  by 
without  her  ever  seeing  him.     For  he  was 

much  too  happy  with  her,  it  was  more  than 

213 


214  ECSTASY 

he  could  bear.  He  looked  upon  her  so- 
ciety as  a  rare  pleasure  to  be  very  jealously 
indulged.  And  she,  she  loved  him  sim- 
ply, with  the  innermost  essence  of  her 
soul,  loved  him  frankly,  as  a  woman  loves 
a  man.  .  .  .  She  always  wanted  him, 
every  day,  every  hour,  at  every  pulse  of 
her  life. 

Then  she  met  him  by  chance,  at 
Scheveningen,  where  she  had  gone  one 
evening  with  Amelie  and  Suzette.  Then 
once  again  at  a  reception  at  Mrs.  Hoze's. 
He  seemed  shy  with  her;  and  a  certain 
pride  in  her  kept  her  from  asking  him  to 
call.  Yes,  something  was  changed  in 
what  had  been  woven  between  them. 
But  she  suffered  sorely,  suffered  also  be- 
cause of  that  foolish  pride,  because  she  had 
not  humbly  begged  him  to  come  to  her. 
Was  he  not  her  god*?  Whatever  he  did 
was  good. 

So  she  did  not  see  him  for  weeks  and 


ECSTASY  215 

weeks.  Life  went  on :  each  day  she  had 
her  little  occupations,  in  her  household, 
with  her  children;  Mrs.  Hoze  reproached 
her  for  her  withdrawal  from  society  and 
she  began  to  think  more  about  her  friends, 
to  please  Mrs.  Hoze,  who  had  asked  this 
of  her.  There  were  flashes  in  her  memory ; 
in  those  flashes  she  saw  the  dinner-party, 
their  conversations  and  walks,  all  her  love 
for  him,  all  his  reverence  for  her  whom  he 
called  Madonna;  their  last  evening  of 
light  and  ecstasy.  Then  she  smiled;  and 
the  smile  itself  beamed  over  her  anguish, 
her  anguish  in  that  she  no  longer  saw  him, 
in  that  she  felt  proud  and  cherished  a  little 
inward  bitterness.  Yet  all  things  must  be 
well,  as  he  wished  them  to  be. 

Oh,  the  evenings,  the  summer  evenings, 
cooling  after  the  warm  days,  the  evenings 
when  she  sat  alone,  staring  out  from  her 
room,  where  the  onyx  lamp  burnt  with  a 
subdued  flame,  staring  out  of  the  open 


2i6  ECSTASY 

windows  at  the  trams  which,  with  their 
tinkling  bells,  came  and  went  to  Scheven- 
ingen,  full,  full  of  people!  Waiting,  the 
endless  long  waiting,  evening  after  eve- 
ning in  solitude,  after  the  children  had 
gone  to  bed  I  Waiting,  when  she  simply 
sat  still,  staring  fixedly  before  her,  look- 
ing at  the  trams,  the  tedious,  everlasting 
trams  I  Where  was  her  modulated  joy  of 
dreaming  happiness  *?  And  where,  where 
was  her  radiant  happiness?  Where  was 
her  struggle  within  herself  between  what 
she  was  and  what  he  saw  in  her?  This 
struggle  no  longer  existed,  this  struggle 
also  had  been  overcome;  she  no  longer  felt 
the  force  of  passion;  she  only  longed  to 
see  him  come  as  he  had  always  come,  as  he 
no  longer  came.  Why  did  he  not  come? 
Happiness  palled;  people  were  talking 
about  them.  ...  It  was  not  right  that 
they  should  see  much  of  each  other — he 
had  said  so  the  evening  before  that  high- 


ECSTASY  217 

est  happiness — not  good  for  him  and  not 
good  for  her. 

So  she  sat  and  thought;  and  great  silent 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes,  for  she  knew  that, 
though  he  remained  away  partly  for  his 
own  sake,  it  was  above  all  for  hers  that  he 
did  not  come.  What  had  she  not  said 
to  him  that  evening  on  the  bench  in  the 
Woods,  when  her  arms  were  about  his 
neck  I  Oh,  she  should  have  been  silent, 
she  felt  it  now  I  She  should  not  have 
uttered  her  rapture,  but  have  enjoyed  it 
secretly  within  herself;  she  should  have  let 
him  utter  himself:  she  herself  should  have 
remained  his  Madonna.  But  she  had 
been  too  full,  too  happy;  and  in  that  over- 
brimming happiness  she  had  been  unable 
to  be  other  than  true  and  clear  as  a  bright 
mirror. 

He  had  glanced  into  her  and  read  her 
entirely:  she  knew  that,  she  was  certain  of 
it. 


2i8  ECSTASY 

He  knew  now  in  what  manner  she  loved 
him;  she  herself  had  revealed  it  to  him. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  she  had  made  known 
to  him  that  this  was  all  past,  that  she  was 
now  what  he  wished  her  to  be.  And  this 
had  been  true  then,  clear  at  that  time  and 
true.  .  .  .  But  now?  Does  ecstasy  en- 
dure only  for  one  moment  and  did  he  know 
it  ?  Did  he  know  that  her  soul's  flight  had 
reached  its  limit  and  must  now  descend 
again  to  a  commoner  sphere*?  Did  he 
know  that  she  loved  him  again  now,  quite 
ordinarily,  with  all  her  being,  wholly  and 
entirely,  no  longer  as  widely  as  the  heav- 
ens, only  as  widely  as  her  arms  could 
reach  out  and  embrace?  And  could  he 
not  return  this  love,  this  so  petty  love  of 
hers,  and  was  that  why  he  did  not  come  to 
her? 

2 
Then  she  received  his  letter: 


ECSTASY  219 

"Forgive  me  if  I  put  off  from  day  to  day 
coming  to  see  you;  forgive  me  if  even  to- 
day I  cannot  decide  to  come  and  if  I  write 
to  you  instead.  Forgive  me  if  I  even  ven- 
ture to  ask  you  whether  it  may  not  be 
necessary  that  we  see  each  other  no  more. 
If  I  hurt  you  and  offend  you,  if  I — which 
may  God  forbid — cause  you  pain,  forgive 
me,  forgive  me !  Perhaps  I  procrastinated 
a  little  from  indecision,  but  much  more  be- 
cause I  considered  that  I  had  no  other 
choice. 

"There  has  been  between  our  two  lives, 
between  our  two  souls,  a  rare  moment  of 
happiness  which  was  a  special  boon,  a  spe- 
cial grace  of  heaven.  Do  you  not  think 
so  too?  Oh,  if  only  I  had  the  words  to 
tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  in  my  inner- 
most soul  for  that  happiness  I  If  later  I 
ever  look  back  upon  my  life,  I  shall  always 
see  that  happiness  gleaming  in  between 
the  ugliness  and  the  blackness,  like  a  star 


220  ECSTASY 

of  light.  We  received  it  as  such,  as  a  gift 
of  light.  And  I  venture  to  ask  you  if  that 
gift  is  not  a  thing  for  you  and  me  to  keep 
sacred? 

"Can  we  do  that  if  I  continue  to  see 
you?  You,  yes,  I  have  no  doubt  of  you: 
you  will  be  strong  to  keep  it  sacred,  our 
sacred  happiness,  especially  because  you 
have  already  had  your  struggle,  as  you 
confided  to  me  on  that  sacred  evening. 
But  I,  can  I  too  be  strong,  especially  now 
that  I  know  that  you  have  been  through 
the  struggle?  I  doubt  myself,  I  doubt  my 
own  force;  I  am  afraid  of  myself.  There 
is  cruelty  in  me,  a  love  of  destruction, 
something  of  a  savage.  As  a  boy  I  took 
pleasure  in  destroying  beautiful  things,  in 
breaking  and  soiling  them.  The  other 
day,  Jules  brought  me  some  roses  to  my 
room;  in  the  evening,  as  I  sat  alone,  think- 
ing of  you  and  of  our  happiness — yes,  at 
that  very  moment — my  fingers  began  to 


ECSTASY  221 

fumble  with  a  rose  whose  petals  were 
loose;  and,  when  I  saw  that  one  rose  dis- 
petalled,  there  came  a  cruel  frenzy  within 
me  to  tear  and  destroy  them  all;  and  I 
rumpled  every  one  of  them.  I  only  give 
you  a  small  instance,  because  I  do  not  wish 
to  give  you  larger  instances,  from  vanity, 
lest  you  should  know  how  bad  I  am.  I  am 
afraid  of  myself.  If  I  saw  you  again 
and  again  and  yet  again,  what  should  I 
begin  to  feel  and  think  and  wish,  uncon- 
sciously'? Which  would  be  the  stronger, 
my  soul  or  the  beast  that  is  in  me?  For- 
give me  for  laying  bare  my  dread  before 
you  and  do  not  despise  me  for  it.  Up 
to  the  present  I  have  not  attempted  a 
struggle,  in  the  sacred  world  of  our  hap- 
piness. I  saw  you,  I  saw  you  often  be- 
fore I  knew  you;  I  guessed  you  as  you 
were;  I  was  permitted  to  speak  to  you;  it 
was  given  me  to  love  you  with  my  soul 
alone:  I  beseech  vou,   let  it  remain  so. 


222  ECSTASY 

Let  me  continue  to  keep  my  happiness  like 
this,  to  keep  it  sacred,  a  thousand  times 
sacred.  I  think  it  worth  while  to  have 
lived,  now  that  I  have  known  that:  hap- 
piness, the  highest.  And  I  am  afraid  of 
the  struggle  which  would  probably  come 
and  pollute  that  sacred  thing. 

"Will  you  believe  me  when  I  swear  to 
you  that  I  have  reflected  deeply  on  all 
this?  Will  you  believe  me  when  I  swear 
to  you  that  I  suifer  at  the  thought  of  never 
being  permitted  to  see  you  again'?  And, 
above  all,  will  you  forgive  me  when  I 
swear  to  you  that  I  am  acting  in  this  way 
because  I  think  that  I  am  doing  right? 
Oh,  I  am  grateful  to  you  and  I  love  you 
as  a  soul  of  light  alone,  of  nothing  but 
light! 

"Perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  send  you  this 
letter.  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  pre- 
sently I  will  tear  up  what  I  have  writ- 
ten.   .  .  . 


ECSTASY  223 

Yet  he  had  sent  her  the  letter. 

There  was  great  bitterness  within  her. 
She  had  struggled  once,  had  conquered 
herself  and,  in  a  sacred  moment,  had  con- 
fessed both  struggle  and  conquest;  she 
knew  that  fate  had  compelled  her  to  do 
so;  she  now  knew  what  she  would  lose 
through  her  confession.  For  a  short  mo- 
ment, a  single  evening  perhaps,  she  had 
been  worthy  of  her  god  and  his  equal. 
Now  she  was  so  no  longer;  for  this  reason 
also  she  felt  bitter.  And  she  felt  bitter- 
est of  all  because  the  thought  dared  to  rise 
within  her: 

"A  god  I  Is  he  a  god?  Is  a  god  afraid 
of  the  struggle?" 

Then  her  threefold  bitterness  changed 
to  despair,  black  despair,  a  night  which 
her  eyes  sought  to  penetrate  in  order  to 
see  something  where  they  saw  nothing, 
nothing;  and  she  moaned  low  and  wrung 
her  hands,  sinking  into  a  heap  before  the 


224  ECSTASY 

window  and  staring  at  the  trams  which, 
with  the  tinkling  of  their  bells,  ran  piti- 
lessly to  and  fro. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SHE  shut  herself  up;  she  saw  little 
of  her  children;  she  told  her 
friends  that  she  was  ill.  She  was 
at  home  to  no  visitors.  She  guessed  in- 
tuitively that  people  in  their  circles  were 
speaking  of  Quaerts  and  herself.  Life 
hung  dull  about  her  in  a  closely-woven 
web  of  tiresome,  tedious  meshes;  and  she 
remained  motionless  in  her  corner,  to  avoid 
entangling  herself  in  those  meshes.  Once 
Jules  forced  his  way  to  her;  he  went  up- 
stairs, in  spite  of  Greta's  protests;  he 
sought  her  in  the  little  boudoir  and,  not 
finding  her,  went  resolutely  to  her  bed- 
room. He  knocked  without  receiving  a 
reply,  but  entered  nevertheless.  The 
room  was  half  in  darkness,  for  she  kept 
the  blinds  lowered;  in  the  shadow  of  the 

canopy  which  rose   above   the   bedstead, 

225 


226  ECSTASY 

with  its  hangings  of  old-blue  brocade, 
Cecile  lay  sleeping.  Her  tea-gown  was 
open  over  her  breast;  the  train  trailed  from 
the  bed  and  lay  creased  over  the  carpet; 
her  hair  spread  loosely  over  the  pillows; 
one  of  her  hands  was  clutching  nervously 
at  the  tulle  bed-curtains. 

"Auntie I"  cried  Jules.     "Auntie!" 

He  shook  her  by  the  arm;  and  she  woke 
heavily,  with  heavy,  blue-girt  eyes.  She 
did  not  recognize  him  at  first  and  thought 
that  he  was  little  Dolf. 

"It's  me,  Auntie;  Jules.  .  .  ." 

She  knew  him  now,  asked  how  he  came 
there,  what  was  the  matter  and  if  he  did 
not  know  that  she  was  ill? 

"I  knew,  but  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you. 
I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  .  .  . 
him.  .  .  ." 

"HimT 

"About  Taco.  He  asked  me  to  tell 
you.     He  couldn't  write  to  you,  he  said. 


ECSTASY  227 

He  is  going  on  a  long  journey  with  his 
friend  from  Brussels;  he  will  be  away  a 
long  time  and  he.  would  like  ...  he 
would  like  to  take  leave  of  you." 

"To  take  leave'?" 

"Yes;  and  he  told  me  to  ask  you  if  he 
might  see  you  once  more?" 

She  had  half-raised  herself  and  was 
looking  at  Jules  with  a  vacant  air.  In  an 
instant  the  memory  ran  through  her  brain 
of  the  long  look  which  Jules  had  directed 
on  her  so  strangely  when  she  saw  Quaerts 
for  the  first  time  and  spoke  to  him  coolly 
and  distantly: 

"Have  you  many  relations  in  The 
Hague'?  .  .  .  You  have  no  occupation,  I 
believe?  .  .  .  Sport'?  .  .  .  OhI  .  .  ." 

Then  came  the  memory  of  Jules  play- 
ing the  piano,  of  Rubinstein's  Romance, 
of  the  ecstasy  of  his  fantasia:  the  glitter- 
ing rainbows  and  the  souls  turning  to 
angels. 


228  ECSTASY 

"To  take  leave?"  she  repeated. 

Jules  nodded: 

"Yes,  Auntie,  he  is  going  away  for  ever 
so  long." 

He  could  have  shed  tears  himself  and 
there  were  tears  in  his  voice,  but  he  would 
not  give  way  and  his  eyes  merely  grew 
moist. 

"He  told  me  to  ask  you,"  he  repeated, 
with  difficulty. 

"If  he  can  come  and  take  leave?" 

"Yes,  Auntie." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  lay  staring  be- 
fore her.  An  emptiness  began  to  stretch 
before  her,  in  endless  vistas.  It  was  a 
shadowy  image  of  their  evening  of  rap- 
ture, but  no  light  beamed  out  of  the 
shadow. 

"Emptiness!"  she  muttered  through  her 
closed  lips. 

"What,  Auntie?" 


ECSTASY  229 

She  would  have  liked  to  ask  Jules 
whether  he  was  still,  as  formerly,  afraid 
of  the  emptiness  within  himself;  but  a  gen- 
tleness of  pity,  a  soft  feeling,  a  sweeten- 
ing of  the  bitterness  which  filled  her  be- 
ing, stayed  her. 

"To  take  leave*?"  she  repeated,  with  a 
smile  of  melancholy;  and  the  big  tears  fell 
heavily,  drop  by  drop,  upon  her  fingers 
wrung  together. 

"Yes,  Auntie.  ..." 

He  could  no  longer  restrain  himself:  a 
single  sob  convulsed  his  throat,  but  he 
gave  a  cough  to  conceal  it.  Cecile  threw 
her  arm  round  his  neck: 

"You  are  very  fond  of  .  .  .  Taco,  are 
you  not?"  she  asked;  and  it  struck  her  that 
this  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  pro- 
nounced the  name,  for  she  had  never 
called  Quaerts  by  it:  she  had  never  called 
him  by  any  name. 


230  ECSTASY 

He  did  not  answer  at  first,  but  nestled 
in  her  arm,  in  her  embrace,  and  began  to 
cry: 

"Yes,  I  can't  tell  you  how  fond  I  am  of 
him,"  he  said. 

"I  know,"  she  said;  and  she  thought  of 
the  rainbows  and  the  angels:  he  had 
played  as  out  of  her  own  soul. 

"May  he  come?"  asked  Jules,  loyally 
remembering  his  instructions. 

"Yes." 

"He  asks  if  he  might  come  this  eve- 
ning*?" 

"Very  well." 

"Auntie,  he  is  going  away,  because  of 
.  .  .  because  of  .  .  ." 

"Because  of  what,  Jules?" 

"Because  of  you:  because  you  don't  like 
him  and  will  not  marry  him  I  Mamma 
says  so.  .  .  ." 

She  made  no  reply;  she  lay  sobbing, 
with  her  head  against  Jules'  head. 


ECSTASY  231 

"Is  it  true,  Auntie?  No,  it  is  not  true, 
is  it?  .  .  ." 

"No." 

"Why  then?" 

She  raised  herself  suddenly,  conquering 
herself,  and  looked  at  him  fixedly : 

"He  is  going  away  because  he  must, 
Jules.  I  cannot  tell  you  why.  But  what 
he  does  is  right.  All  that  he  does  is 
right." 

The  boy  looked  at  her,  motionless,  with 
large  wet  eyes,  full  of  astonishment : 

"Is  right?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  He  is  better  than  any  one  of  us. 
If  you  go  on  loving  him,  Jules,  it  will  bring 
you  happiness,  even  if  .  .  .  if  you  never 
see  him  again." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  asked.  "Does 
he  bring  happiness?  Even  in  that 
case?  .  .  ." 

"Even  in  that  case." 

She  listened  to  her  own  words  as  she 


232  ECSTASY 

spoke :  it  was  to  her  as  if  another  were 
speaking,  another  who  consoled  not  only 
Jules  but  herself  as  w^ll  and  who  would 
perhaps  give  her  the  strength  to  take  leave 
of  Taco  in  the  manner  which  would  be 
best,  without  despair. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


SO  you  are  going  on  a  long 
journey'?"  she  asked. 
He  sat  facing  her,  motionless, 
with  anguish  on  his  face.  Outwardly 
she  was  very  calm,  only  there  was  a  sad- 
ness in  her  look  and  in  her  voice.  In  her 
white  dress,  with  the  girdle  falling  before 
her  feet,  she  lay  back  among  the  three 
pillows  of  the  rose-moire  sofa;  the  tips 
of  her  little  slippers  were  buried  in  the 
white  sheepskin  rug.  On  the  table  be- 
fore her  lay  a  great  bouquet  of  loose  roses, 
pink,  white  and  yellow,  bound  together 
with  a  broad  riband.  He  had  brought 
them  for  her  and  she  had  not  yet  placed 

them.     There  was  a  great  calm  about  her; 

233 


234  ECSTASY 

the  exquisite  atmosphere  of  the  boudoir 
seemed  unchanged. 

"Tell  me,  am  I  not  paining  you 
severely?"  he  asked,  with  the  anguish  in 
his  eyes,  the  eyes  which  she  now  knew  so 
well. 

She  smiled: 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  will  be  honest  with 
you.  I  have  suffered,  but  I  suffer  no 
longer.  I  have  struggled  with  myself  for 
the  second  time  and  I  have  conquered  my- 
self.    Will  you  believe  me?" 

"If  you  knew  the  remorse  that  I 
feel  .  .  ." 

She  rose  and  went  to  him : 

"What  for?"  she  asked,  in  a  clear  voice. 
"Because  you  read  me  and  gave  me  hap- 
piness?" 

"Did  I?" 

"Have  you  forgotten?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "but  I  thought  .  .  ." 

"What?" 


ECSTASY  235 

"I  don't  know ;  I  thought  that  you  would 
.  .  .  would  suffer  so  .  .  .  and  I  ...  I 
cursed  myself  I   .   .   ." 

She  shook  her  head  gently,  with  smiling 
disapproval : 

"For  shame  I"  she  said.  "Do  not  blas- 
pheme! ..." 

"Can  you  forgive  me^" 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  Listen  to 
me.  Swear  to  me  that  you  believe  me, 
that  you  believe  that  you  have  given 
me  happiness  and  that  I  am  not  suffer- 
mg. 

"T  T  " 

1  ...  1  swear. 

"I  trust  that  you  are  not  swearing  this 
merely  to  satisfy  my  wish." 

"You  have  been  the  highest  thing  in  my 
life,"  he  said,  gently. 

A  rapture  shot  through  her  soul. 

"Tell  me  only  .  .  ."  she  began. 

"What'?" 

"Tell  me  if  you  believe  that  I,  I,  /  .  .  . 


236  ECSTASY 

shall  always  remain  the  highest  thing  in 
your  life." 

She  stood  before  him,  tall,  in  her  cling- 
ing white.  She  seemed  to  shed  radiance; 
never  had  he  seen  her  so  beautiful. 

"I  am  certain  of  that,"  he  said.  "Cer- 
tain, oh,  certain  I  .  .  .  My  God,  how  can 
I  convey  the  certainty  of  it  to  you*?" 

"But  I  believe  you,  I  believe  you  I"  she 
exclaimed. 

She  laughed  a  laugh  of  rapture.  In  her 
soul  a  sun  seemed  to  be  shooting  forth 
rays  on  every  side.  She  placed  her  arm 
tenderly  about  his  neck  and  kissed  his  fore- 
head with  a  chaste  caress. 

For  one  moment  he  seemed  to  forget 
everything.  He  too  rose,  took  her  in  his 
arms,  almost  savagely,  and  clasped  her 
suddenly  to  him,  as  if  he  were  about  to 
crush  her  against  his  breast.  She  just 
caught  sight  of  his  sad  eyes;  then  she  saw 
nothing  more,  blinded  by  the  kisses  of 


ECSTASY  237 

his  mouth,  which  scorched  her  whole  face 
as  though  with  sparks  of  fire.  With  the 
sun-rapture  of  her  soul  was  mingled  a 
bliss  of  earth,  a  yielding  to  the  violence  of 
his  embrace.  But  the  thought  flashed 
across  her  of  what  she  would  lose  if  she 
yielded.  She  released  herself,  put  him 
away  and  said : 

"And  now  .  .  .  go." 

He  felt  stunned;  he  understood  that  he 
had  no  choice : 

"Yes,  yes,  I  am  going,"  he  said.  "I 
may  write  to  you,  may  I  not?" 

She  nodded  yes,  with  her  smile : 

"Write  to  me,  I  shall  write  to  you  too," 
she  said.  "Let  me  always  hear  from 
you.  .  .  ." 

"Then  these  are  not  to  be  the  last  words 
between  us'?  This  ,  .  .  this  ...  is  not 
the  end?' 

"No." 

"Thank     you.     Good-bye,     mevrouw, 


238  ECSTASY 

good-bye  .  .  .  Cecile.  Ah,  if  you  knew 
what  this  moment  costs  me !" 

"It  must  be.  It  cannot  be  otherwise. 
Go,  go.     You  must  go.     Do  go  .  .  ." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  again,  for  the 
last  time.     A  moment  later  he  was  gone. 


She  looked  about  her  strangely,  with 
bewildered  eyes,  with  hands  locked  to- 
gether : 

"Go,  go  .  .  ."  she  repeated,  like  one 
raving. 

Then  she  noticed  the  roses.  With 
something  like  a  faint  scream  she  sank 
down  before  the  little  table  and  buried  her 
face  in  his  gift,  until  the  thorns  wounded 
her  face.  The  pain — two  drops  of  blood 
which  fell  from  her  forehead — brought 
her  back  to  her  senses.  Standing  before 
the    Venetian    mirror    hanging   over    her 


ECSTASY  239 

writing-table,  she  wiped  away  the  red 
spots  with  her  handkerchief. 

"Happiness  I"  she  stammered  to  her- 
self. "His  happiness  I  The  highest 
thing  in  his  life!  So  he  knew  happiness, 
though  short  it  was.  But  now  .  .  .  now 
he  suffers,  now  he  will  suffer  again,  as  he 
did  before.  The  remembrance  of  happi- 
ness cannot  do  everything.  Ah,  if  it  could 
only  do  that,  then  everything  would  be 
well,  everything!  ...  I  wish  for  no- 
thing more,  I  have  had  my  life,  my  own 
life,  my  own  happiness;  I  now  have  my 
children ;  I  now  belong  to  them.  To  him 
I  must  no  longer  be  anything.  .  .  ." 

She  turned  away  from  the  mirror  and 
sat  down  on  the  settee,  as  though  tired 
with  a  great  space  traversed,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes,  as  though  blinded  with 
too  great  a  light.  She  folded  her  hands 
together,    like    one    in    prayer;    her    face 


240  ECSTASY 

beamed  in  its  fatigue,  from  smile  to  smile. 
"Happiness!"  she  repeated,  faltering 
between  her  smiles.  "The  highest  thing 
in  his  life  I  O  my  God,  happiness!  I 
thank  Thee,  O  God,  I  thank  Thee !  .  .  ." 


THE    END 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


JAN  2  4  1952 
4IW(0CT2o 


1992 


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THE  LIBRARY 
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